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V. 21. heaven/earth i touch you, and the heavens expand -- a hand slips between the folds of a curtain, to allow a close view of the star-speckled universe, the next world. attraction between our bodies pulls space and time into a dense moment, airless, small, and rapid as our pulse. i could spend days, the ocean of your patience barely touching these poorly laid sakuteiki stones; a hollowed arch worn from years of slow tides opens into a cozy realm of private, shared names -- names that have the power to span the distance of alien worlds. in this way, we relearn the alphabet of samsara, which dulls the blade of separation. Backing away, the glacial surface that is you slides at a faster pace, melting in front of myself, the underbelly ice. We are covering eras of mammoths and shellfish who did not make the change from a colder climate to one more temperate. A way of living which does not crack under stress, instead blends like separate clouds, comes from our struggles on a stage where our skin is naked, exposed to our birthmarks. Yet this is if we are lucky, for death stalks us through fallow fields and harvests, sowing thorns; journeys that take days, turn into months and years. If we are wise, even these bitter seeds will fade like a season's pollen, transform beyond nothing and everything. love, forgive me, for desiring what will be unlucky.

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