soap

— for B. Norwood

how far is your heat — that iridescent
sphere of you — you, so handily dispelled
by a slip of breeze — that throbbing orb, that soap
of you jostling in the sink — O frail of all frailties,
the once delighted youth pursed softly through a ring
or galed upon the sky and fervent — fervent
the each and myriad ways to float — one breath
rounded and loosed upon wonder — descend
— descend as all things puffed and lovely do.

Image: Jo Coenen on Unsplash

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