Love is much like the lighting of a small black room
not with lightning but with the glowing bodies
of torched kingdoms and and of slowly quieting suns.
Love is much like this when, upon waking,
arms meet arms and eyes spark in their thirst
like the reflections of stars in theLiptovská reservoir, barking out their being,
singing: here I am, here I am. See how I
stretch my small body
over many ancient floodwaters like a scab.
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