Sheep/Sleep poem

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The white sheet of sleep

stretched taut

falls to the arrowheads of your cries

(black sheep laughing at the end of my dreamstring)

that hand – yours or mine?

the hair in my mouth

the breath wet on my cheek

(small and quick woolsteam)

it would be love making,

but that’s already done

and now you’re here

(vernix slipping unabashed all three bags full)

the world’s darlings

writhing howling in my arms

with your curls akimbo

(yes sir yes sir)

it takes hours for

that moonshine cloud

to spread across us

(the little boy who lives down)

calm is

tucked at the edges

and wrinkled – only –  by ourselves.

(the master and his dame)

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