when you touch
that upholstered brick
that bribe
unholy bible
of mine
lacking latch or lock
lying in trust within your reach
as you talk and in between
trace its raised upholstery.
and i might try
not to see
not to breathe
its flipped cover
space fanned through the seams
i'm blown like love
lost leaves.
settling your hand -
lest it rest -
let it read
it is a press
for tensed membranes
too laden
to cling.
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