Days Folding Like Cream

kissing toes
under the crumbling sun
dipping in the edge
slow tide
comes in
over thumb

pale white door
always open
leading
to
the room
where the rose
unfolding on arms
obeys
the moons laughter
with
sleepy gesture

tears give no miniute
for pausing thought
fault line
drawn close
rattling the blood stream
love simply suggests:
narrow confines of being
fall down
into
add no more

by Aaron John Wells

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