Loafing

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The flesh rises in still early morning

like dough that wants to make bread.

And I am the one to feel it passing

through me into you rising easy

as saying I know moves quickly into

I knew it—or like after your saying I said

oh you ohing me on to say oh my sadness

 

so you could whisper oh my sad ass

laughing and flailing each other

with me flowing through you

and you as fluent through me

as if some sourceless air conducted

through us more wanting and having

than ever there will or can be again.