An Eruption of Snowy Owls

The Bard of Liminga

The night you dropped the jelly jar.

That time we opened the pressure cooker
to find the red beans full of cooked worms.

The way we fitted together under the comforter
and the smell of sex on my hands in the morning.

The way you rocked side to side, hypnotic,
under the fine, hot spray of the shower head.

Someone talking about an eruption of snowy owls.

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About Ray Sharp

Poet, athlete, retired public health planner
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