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Friday, March 9, 2012

The Artists' Honeymoon

In Bed The Kiss, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, 1892
 
We rest, rung. On everything, a slight
blur. Parisian. Post-coital.
Like Sleeping Beauty in reverse
we kiss, then fall into deep sleep.

Next day, we eat the city. Then
we rest, run. Gone. Very thin gaslight
makes cities of our bodies.
We’re natives and we’re newcomers.

We kiss one morning, and the sun
goes down. In the dark parlor where
we restrung one very thin gaslight,
we conjoin at the window.

The whole world seems underwater:
how seas support our own wet weights,
and how all our souls, wild as thoughts,
were strung on everything as light.