Condensation forms from nothing, it sticks onto warmth to say it’s okay it’s okay until the heat tops off, the towel hangs and the wet escapes. It is a tongue lapping across an envelope damp with perfume, falling in a locked metal box to a jeep and is then locked at night and thrown into another box opened with a key or coat hanger or hammer. The dried gum cannot be opened by anything but a knife, cut along the line, so careful not to dash the perfume, not to slice the insides. It is everything because it is private, me to you, tearing along lines, folding ourselves into two pieces bent and torn at the end of a table before the close, a straight line separating our strut from our spine, stationary and scent, sweat from our tongue, distance drying the ride, the destination, all the things that have gone wrong, the time, the time, the time. Copyright © March 1995 By Carl Bischof return to friends poems Email:
Condensation forms from nothing,
It is a tongue lapping across
The dried gum cannot be opened
It is everything because it is private,
Copyright © March 1995 By Carl Bischof
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