with his words
on my breath
on your ear
but they're mine now and I can do as I want with them.
And you can judge me by the way I come apart in your hands,
and by the treasures inside
by the pearl seeds I've held cupped in my tongue
by the nerves which stretch and melt spun sugared against your skin
by the revelries you coax from my thigh bone trumpets
and by the taps
you can circle my cramped untidy hands
and soften them with a season of clutches.
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