under braced waves frozen mid-fold
at the mouth of the canal
your suit sullied with grass
and mud and sap and blood
my dress torn provocatively
at the shoulder and hip
the ice from the waves burns
our bare feet and our breath
manifests in weak clouds of mist
after each passionate kiss
decided upon by a look
of mutual exhaustion
from the dragon slaughter
and failed escape attempts
1 comment:
nice and deeply spare. bravo, methinks.
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