borrowed gravity

If I noticed virtue or integrity in you
And the toppling winter sun,
I wouldn’t even confide this to myself
My arrows are drawn with a pigment liner
These motifs push pencils across pages with
a foretold love but ulterior erasing renders us smudged
The hooded faces are not so.
Today was Sunset Park with abandoned needles,
Rain and askance glances from fewer wide-eyes
I can only hope to offend none or more or less of them.
Why not be inhibited?
If laughter tolls at what our love becomes
It’s because at the present moment
I am beneath it, writhing in sweat soaked shirt
Hiding a secret of tightly drawn corsets.


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