by Steve Klepetar

Let’s respect
that you
are a lizard
color on a black
newly budding
with leaves and wet
with rain
that I am only
a moth
in the wind
my pale
wings helpless
against the rush
of air
that I sing
with a mouth
made of pebbles
and dirt
that my aria
can never end
that I sweat
in the spotlight
as fingers knot
and unwind
that whenever I look
up to see
beyond the rows
of faces masked
by shadow
you almost
into the ground
you occupy
until all boundaries
blur and your red tongue burns

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