escape from tibet

love comes as a surprise
in the milky dawn of waking
you are so strange and murky
as you commute
the distance of my desire
silent are the stories
traced by fingers and toes
breasts and buttocks
the bedsheets are mountains
on our journey to each other
lilting lovers language low
like poets breath and himalayan
playing in the alpenglow
the air is stretched thin and deadly
we could fly and forget
the valley of xinjiang
but where would we place
the vase of our love
in the coming of spring?

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