The evening comes, a soft moan in the crook of the
The air is heavy with the breath of God, a thick fog
Come closer. Like we might know each other
What are we made for if not this? The clemency of
The dance is our first tongue spoken. Your hips are
If life has taught me one thing, Heaven is a small
headlights through the blinds. God is in the moment
In the fever, I dream her shape out the window.
unbuttoned and her ribs sing. There are old world
I would not trade such fictions for any truth, save
earlobes and unbuttoned how we might sing.
William Knudsen is a writer and musician from Fort Collins, Colorado. His poetry has been published in The Legendary, Sparrow Ghost Collective Anthology, and Streetlight Magazine.
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