Casey Holman, 7/11

morning is the darkest harbor

raccoons pick the streets clean
and the harbor wakes slowly
opening a bleary eye
a low horn at three am

we were zombies tonight
spirits sliding on our knees
but now we are men and women
free to kiss who we should not

footsteps quick-quick-quick
the only soft, breaking sounds
in the silence
breath briefly warming the crisp night
fingers touching fingers timidly
‘til finally mine catch yours up

we curl up together there
digits and palms
enough to make me smile
my heart lifting up
through a ceiling of ghouls and souls
freed from this medicine chest

stepping back out into the night
everything is brighter
the midnight sky light-polluted orange
and we have no secrets
when anyone can see your hand on mine

and when we kiss,
saying goodbye,

good morning

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