You can’t remember where it was.
.
The snake was pale gold, glazed and shrunken.
We were afraid to touch it.
The sheets were hot dead prisons.
.
Her dark red hair.
The white soft skin.
She’s coming in here.
I can’t live thru each slow century of her moving.
Feel the good cold stinging blood.
The smooth hissing snakes of rain . . .
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