Perfect Isolation

For S.L.

Coupling bees are falling [Thut!]
Over-wrangled & humping – as if
there’s no tomorrow – they know
how things are & how things will
be – now our lives are set by rays
outside/ I am not clocking on [or
off] – I am welcoming primordial
rhythms & sleep’s brenne of fat/
I am back to my Neolithic ways –
food is sparse – a scattering – by
dusk none – then rest under dark
until more calls of birds/ We are
slimming & dying/ I have plans –
my lover & I will leg it to an isle &
walk naked – uncloaked to loose
ways ’til sunset aligns our return
to a bunk – there we will fuck [for
hours] then a night [torn covers]
& all that time our children sigh –
Mother – Father – What? & Why?? –
but outside Shiants will whisper –
by tides & gust – Yird yer watches
& bury yer clocks! – as we gyrate –
to eye each other’s wanting face
& lips – then less timorous in kiss
& contact [in our perfect isolation]


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