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My feet walked me back


by Cary Briel


I looked into your eyes,
even behind,
to dispositions of mind
and heart,
and yet while I did this,
while I thought and analyzed…
my feet walked me back;
With camera in hand
I couldn't help it.
The focal point 
passed from inside to out
eventually finding your flesh.
It was that focus
crisp as it was,
pillows and sheets dropping
in from above,
your hair falling wildly,
your breath 
buoying love.
That moment,
rushing frame by frame by...
but now its all slipped away.
And all I can remember
is the lack of divide.
Not you on the left
and me on my side
but an act of naming,
joining,
eyes meeting,
breath intoxicating.
Feet and toes against,
seeking 
counterparts,
sin upon sin,
knees fighting wars
uncompetitive
not who will win,
but wars of who will lie still
while the other talks
in new ways,
with a new language
of movement.
Hands operating
independently of thought,
in fact, your hands 
moving mine, 
pleas to not stop.
Sheets soaked,
lips bit,
flesh flush with desire.
My camera,
its film
burned up as in fire.
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