there's the stark impulse of stubble only,
the jet of your hair under my skin -
underneath it, me;
the kiss a part of the victory party
in the small fugitive places,
even more than
the concrete distinction will remain as
the night within the night;
a fraction of a kin-house
an uncertain principality -
where in the folds? where
can this neat razor heat
spill on your lap and sigh