In the dark room, the computer screen
beaming. Close-up
of a woman’s lips. The television loud
with songs retelling
David Bowie’s life on film, played
to drown out our flesh.
& moonlight, too, slips in
to take part in our skin,
our softness, this un
-elegant exploration, how we reach
to press our cocks against each other
in mutual agreement
that this would only happen once, even
when light wants: our bodies,
this path we followed: the pores:
the standing hairs: the salt—
