You're beautiful
with the lights out,
only the glow
of the clock radio
on your skin. Like that
on your bed you're a babe
in the womb, your skin lit
from within by your heart's
electric pulses. Blankets
like these are uterine,
sticky and warm. I hope
you emerge head first.
It wouldn't be right
to cut you out.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
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