The feather spark of a woman
that favours you
on first occasion:
like an eyelash,
like creation.
She isn’t hit by your sickness.
She isn’t cut by your sins.
The blood flows safe and warm beneath the skin.
Enjoy, my brothers and sisters,
when sun, moon and holy whisper
go swinging off sycamore trees
and time is on our side
for a second or three.
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