Never knowing how long
his body might tremble above me.
Leaving an atlas of himself
for days, weeks… months..years..
The rage of startling separation.
Will he leave me at the shore?
My body would be sick with misty rain.
Seeing his mouth in dreams…
just an apparition?
His soul softens me.
Keeps me willing.
And I lay against the buttons on
His blue plaid shirt,
praying my submission
and my gypsy soul make him stay.
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