which word comes and gives back, a coil of her tightening and turning in the deeper troughs. I inhaled light at the throat, a startling gulp, where she opened the neck to let the breathers in - and I’ve not been whole, I’ve not been right, I’ve been unmade, at the very least. Where you ache, is that a place you can name?
Oliver Luker Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
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