Maneo Mohale
of course I do. let it be
known that I store each one
of your gestures in that glassy part
of the morning, just here
until they wither. your finger pearled
in the soft oyster of my mouth.
your misshapen pulse. the secret
of its name in some grey-sheeted dark
tender one: what is a body but a vase?
let it be known
that I spent this time missing you:
each one.
originally published on Expound
Featured on 18 March 2021
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