Strangers No More

Poems / Saturday, May 20th, 2017


We start the night as strangers
in a cold tight bed.

The sun kind enough to hide
us from our exposed backsides:
Two warm walls
in a cold tight bed.

Phantom passion too weak to climb
and unaccustomed to the forced time
of a first night.

Warm slumber upon us;
like siblings we sleep.
Strangers no more.

The sun returns unashamed at what it hears:
Its children’s light snores.


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