UNTITLED TYPEWRITER POEM NO. NINETEEN

19

After every instance
in which you have pressed
the tips of your fingers
to the gates of your mouth
and offered in my direction
the seal of your lips,

I have caught
all offerings
and accepted
each gift
more willingly
than the last,

and I hold each kiss
within my fist—
So when I am given
your final gift,

when I loosen my grip,
a lifetime will pour out,
and the winds of our love
will shape the skies above.

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