There’s a darkness at the heart of me
Creeping, lucidly, through dutch tulips and paisley,
Parsley, sage, and rosemary climbing
Windowsills in dirgeless threnody.
We are constant, droning, no queens in the hive.
There is only the slender shadow of
My outstretched hand
Reaching over 2am tile,
Pulled out of proportion,
Sticky and sinuous as old rubber bands
Lingering on the receipt printer.
“Turn your card over”
Ace of Clubs. Page of Cups.
Receiving, ever receiving,
Glancingly meeting,
Swallowing sunlight.
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