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I would have taken you
in my hand, cold 

as February sunrise,

tapered as a candle at dusk,
dripping and luminous
with all the frigid glamor

of a woman's kiss
before she goes inside
herself, into the vacant ground,

still thinking of that
moment hanging, being pulled
and willing in the air,

would have taken you
in my hand, firm
and fastened as a star,

but then you slid naked,
almost shattering
into unregions of the known.

              -- David Radavich