Culture | Inkwell

"Hebe"

Though it seemed they’d be OK
made love timidly on the kitchen floor
the ranges burning on the stovetop
when the heater broke

the whimpering lull of the oven
the soft catches and moans of a lip
or a thigh
meeting in the air as a single, resounding note

Straining—
aching to hear
Letting slipped breaths
pool in their upturned mouths

such ecstasy in merely
listening to it
or the radio
or perhaps the blind woman downstairs
singing to her pets
It never mattered!

When they fell in love the first time
it was as if they had only
fallen asleep and woke
to find they’d risen from the same dream.


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