UNTITLED TYPEWRITER POEM NO. TWELVE

12

I am held together
by the knowledge
that I will see you
when I return home.
But, what binds
each of your bones
to their muscle
and each hair
to your skin?
What holds you together?
I imagine your substance
must be the sunlight,
because when I come home,
I know within every ounce
of my secured body
that when I lie
in bed with you,
your entirety—
in the presence
of the moon—
will fall to pieces
and cover my bones
my muscle
my hair
my skin
and keep me warm
through every hour
of the night.

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