Poetry

Shelter

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 POETRY

 

She climbed over me

and we began waiting,

invincible in our armor

of light sweat.

There in the basement

we kept a pallet,

a radio, thirteen cans

of Delmonte Garden Peas,

the coil to a flashlight,

nine gallons of spring water.

We missed each other

most when we fucked —

then we rolled apart

fingertips touching,

and practiced being victims

of the war to come . . .

How we loved that world,

its smell of must,

its darkness, its single light.



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