when you turn off the light I am suddenly soft
and where my tense, dense trunk stood tall
is only the shadow of the shy sapling that I am in the day.
and when we close the windows and draw the blinds
the trembling in my willowed spirit-level hands
is lost at long last to whiskey and grins.

I have twisted my usual twitches inside-out
to take two beautiful bodies as likeness, not lacking –
three mismatched pearls, moonstones at three a.m.
and it’s only barely the whiskey and I know it
bravery never born of booze but always always always
the sweetness of a shared shell and sea.

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