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Epithalamium

The lungs are a temporary house.

And, I am housed in a breathless city.

The mosquitoes drifting out from a glass

Of champagne gnaw on the skin above

My elbow. Tonight, I am glad to be

Eaten from the elbow out, the wedding

Covered in smoke from lovers’ mouths, not-so

Lovers drifting in and out of the bone

Of their bodies as if it is possible

To sift oneself through the screen of a door—

Tonight, I am glad to come to a bench,

The yawn light busy in its red yawning,

Nothing feeding nothing—mosquito—lover—

Lover—mosquito—Do you take—I do, I do.

from King MeFind it in the library

Copyright © 2013 Roger Reeves
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.

Published in Poems Roger Reeves

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