THE LIVING ROOM

by Arthur Smid

I feel the curve of the earth rubbing oil
On her legs spreading flowers in the valley
Her face in bloom when the petals part

Spiraling swiftly into her narrow forget-me-not

We devour a moment incarnate our time
In the flesh like the ghosts of dawn in sunshine
The perishable fruit in our eternity my face

Forgotten as easy as I sang her to sleep

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