Poem: Expedition | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Hudson Valley; Chronogram
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Poem: Expedition 

The muscles of your shoulder
are hills and valleys.
My eyes trace
the ink forest outline, its
dells glowing softly
in the grey morning light.

The air is cold but
tiny firecrackers explode
beneath your skin,

melting the tundra between
your body and mine
into a deep blue sea.

It is not always easy
to reach me,
through the squalls and
past the breakers,

but your pursuit
means the world.

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Speaking of Skin, touching

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