we are wind 
ablaze with longings deep as desperation  

we expand 
become corona off the eclipse 
and your smile—at first shaky 
then glaring as death—hold us in place 
while the world stood still      ​unaware ​
just like consciousness

we flared   paper kites ecstatic in a storm cloud
wild        shameless with passion

became sure of everything we knew 
which is really nothing 
and for the first time ​     our bodies 
trauma-stained​          sore as pain ​   lay only at our own mercy


D. E. Benson is a literary arts enthusiast and critic. 

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