Epithalamium

Darling, the delta has closed in
purposefully. It licks your lips
and eyelids shut.

So you’re standing there, like something
I forgot. There is nothing
touching (so remote)
a scrap of your hair, a thigh.

I’m talking about the side
of your body submerged.
Not knowing the difference
between finger and arm.

“Fall” is the wrong word.
Just as a dancer,
choreographically,
does not move,
I never fell in love.

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