Desiderate by Melissa Chappell

One warm night.

Desire unfurls out of

the deep earth

where memory curls,

and uncurls at a

spark, the way the

light falls, stolen

seconds, the fear of

stolen memory.

The serpent sky

coils around us,

lights incandescent

floating above 

in their watery spheres.

A wakeful crow

watches from a nearby

gathering of trees. 

Our breath, 

tattered wind,

our hands,

old cartographers,

making maps that

burn skin, 

touched only now,

after all this time.

No one sees,

but the voyeur crow.

He sees 



falling to the

dirty concrete

where we hide

in a store front,


to us.

I cling to you

in this meadow

of asphalt,

rusted chrome,

and broken stone.

The sullied air

around us sleeps.

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