#18

The rain came, expiation. Cloud-gray with it, slate-still, light upon the oriental carpet of the third-floor study. The photographic subject there in multiple. A choir in every limb-long pose. Olive-pink, stray freckles. Lines of hair from chest to sex. Curved nimbus round each ass. A soft-porn haze of camera-work trickery.

A reverent silence among twisting torsos. Stitched in white thread.

(The fold of yourself on yourself. Full lips as full lips, and your own.)