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Abstinence
The florist's
boy comes to the door
with roses
from a friend. Smug
in the
thick of eucalyptus,
pink -
not red, the colour easing
towards
the petals' velvet base
pale as
the rippled linen
of this
too-wide bed I drift on,
dolphin-plump,
waiting for the splash.
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Gasp
But it
is not surprise that has your face all ‘o’s
as you
emerge from between my legs - you
are pushing
through the surface of your lust
like a
swimmer. The surprise is all mine
that this
gaze will hold, all the way down
to my small
drowning, and back to air.
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Salt water
Sunlight crossing the room, the
clarity of pain;
my blood shrinks from the mark
of your hand,
rushes to the hollow left behind,
a footprint
in sand; the slow rush of my
breath; a whetting.
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Thirst
The varnish I painted on my toe
nails
when you were last here has shunted
a quarter inch from the cuticle.
My body
marks time. I trim my nails and
bathe alone.
It’s hot now. I pumice
and moisturise
my feet for sandals. Dried skin
has cracks
like the strands of an estuary.
There is sea between us. I wait
for autumn.
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