alfie lee writing

how is it

that i am
more

lonely
with you
than with-

out you? so
the trough
rolls into

the crest,
movement,
a way

from rest, a
life, a frenzy
whipped

fresh
by flesh,
this pause, in

tolerable
absence
quickening,

that beat, in
this clod
of clay, there

your coming
stays,
this breath.



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