Friday, August 23, 2019

082319


Overprinting


Some naked thing,
Fumbling towards dawn
With a torch in its hand,
Sensations:
A sharpness on the feet,
A chill, goosebumps,
The rough wood on its skin.

It has no speech, not yet,
It will remember nothing
Of this, after words come,
Writing over these first
Sensual memories
That will never be accessed again,
That first there was something,
Then, something more,
And then: everything!

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