bodies detached from distant

hinges muse over

what the taupe and blue

mid-scale damask

shows once rubbed

raw.

the wonder is whether the tuft and husk

prove geomantic or

peel back

to a panel equally

aritificial.

almost

one might imagine the two toying

with buckles

and tongue-thighs,

heavy with something

deep .

call it what you want

in the spine:

a pommel

parabola

some last fiber of felt, old

and itching--

a thing not ever,

if honest,

capillary.

and,

if you are honest

with yourself,

you, whose thoughts remain in words

find no chapel in here

I vocalized eccentricities I wanted you to remember

while I watched you fold paper cranes.