“autopsy room”

I will spend one autopsy alone with you,
sorting my material for one next poem—
until the nurse interrupts
and she or I begin making love
like a tractor to his field,
like rain to his frost,
like dice to her tabletop,
like silence to her terror,
beside your refrigerated aura.

narrative poem written on 07-07-2010 by: on mattkane.com
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