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Schulenburg

 

Jennifer Poteet

 

Married

Belly down, I’ve got you.
Play, poke finger into navel.
Trace the furrow.
Breathe bouquet, cigarettes and skin, sweat.
Kiss swatch, russet cross-hatch.
Absent minded stroke.
My open mouth descends:
tongue, a lash — a whip — a vow
glides from tip to base.
I linger on familiar flesh.
Know your terrain like the brook
I traversed growing up. Husband,
empty your banks. Swim to me now
and flood.

 

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