we linger on the sidewalk
cigarettes slip from pockets
stay
way past time to leave,
cling to each other’s words
still lilting, ears longing,
not for touch,
not for light conversation,
but the taste of more,
of something nearly sacred.
lips spill stars, fire, music.
listen to the pulse –
smoke, magma, blood.
by Lori Desrosiers

Lori Desrosiers grew up on the banks of the Hudson River, but now lives somewhere between the world of her poetry and Western Massachusetts. She has a literary journal, an M.F.A. and several fat cats.
www.poetrynewscalendar.com
www.threevanities.blogspot.com
www.loridesrosiers.com
www.naugatuckriverreview.com
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