parts of a work-in-progress

i
One might compare midnight sleepless contortions to language twisting in a lampless dark. One might notice how elegant dark falls over the shoulders of another. One might study the other, realizing that both clutch shadows, and later reflections, and later skin. One might compare how one moves
over the body
up and down
in and out
moistening the neck
scraping over skin
in search of
something deeper
and pressing
deeper still


vii.
Let us not speak of these sleepless contortions. Let us compare ours to no language—language tapers to nothing when we try. Let us combine shadows, clutch skin, let us move
in
search
of
something
deeper
and
pressing
deeper still I clutch your covers lick the tangy oils off your skin ripple the sheets sockless up and down in and out moistening your neck by tonguing snakes—When I pause, we are both floating in your glasses’ lenses, layered like watercolors, diffusing, mixing.


ix
I am here with you in the dark—now—in my open-mouthed contortion. I want to learn every sleepless inch, study your body like a language. I want nothing for comparison. Release your shadows—this is distance.

Let us move over the body up and down in and out moistening the neck scraping over skin in search of something deeper and pressing deeper still.