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There was a lull, a break from bliss

when I turned to face the window

looking for all the world, you said,

“like I was composing a new verse.”

Even on our pleasure barge

there are lapses in understanding,

for this groping for words (I thought but did not say)

is not a gasp for air but a further plunging;

I stroke you with both tangible hands

and feet unstressed or thudding…

but “sorry, love” did seem in order

before the revels resumed. Or continued.

from Silver RosesFind it in the library

Copyright © Persea Books 2010
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Persea Books.

Published in Poems Rachel Wetzsteon

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