tributary
a pair of feet linger
under inches of
cold river water.
they frame a face:
a pair of eyes.
and in them light
lingers from below,
projecting whispers of
a broken bottleneck:
sunken deposition.
a pair of hands extend
and so palms are doused
for the sake of glass,
transparent inquisition.
later on, a mouth tells her:
“it really was beautiful!
can you imagine how old
the pair of lips were
that drank from it?”
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