We made a crank, a clear
cry of rock against metal,

and the scent of six lit
bodies, their heads

low inside their caving chests.
When you curved into that first

heavy punch and cleaved
the white of my spine, I couldn't

know the spicy charm of it,
how you would arch my back            

into the sad shape of a moon,
or how the grain

of your tackle was dear lord—
too much.

__

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