Snoring.
Pious feathers
cover
every curl
the love is there
because
I turned you into a story
right through
every clerical vein
ingesting the reversal
eyes closed
in
a bone soft attic prayer
the extent
of my marrow
miscarried across
my grip
loose as clothespins
you
with no idea that
you
are the answer
with raincoat
tipping the pitcher.
