[I see all the fine hairs on my dog's face whorl]

I see all the fine hairs on my dog's face whorl

roughly over her eyes  her amber curl of dog sleep

before the door  I hear footsteps  collapse and flatten

like clumps of snow  and feel something  prior  to

goosebumps  but it's not  a  memory  it's   not

remembered  it's only  this sound  trapped like  oxygen

inside  my cells  or a  network  of  airbags  to absorb

the  shock  of my  body  colliding   into   yours:

eye white   hip socket   succulent hand   veins morning

sun spill  intimate jargon   tête-à-tête   avalanche  minded

thoughts  explosions   everywhere   laundry   drying on

door knob   empty   perfume bottle   fire   spitting wick

brain   stubble speckled   calf           whose foot is this?

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Brooklyn, NY