“Pause: Affinity”

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There are still faded men peddling

vibrant fruit—succulent, ripe to bursting—

on the southeast side of Austin

where we feigned our dance

for years

in balmy nights, so sultry. sophisticated.

Fungal aroma—this raw earth

elicits illicit entreaties

from even the scores of

quivering bird-silhouettes atop

purring powerlines.

Mute—mutual—we muse

in

billowing saccharine

malleability

of possibility—

of belief.  

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4 thoughts on ““Pause: Affinity”

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