Sands of Granite

Factor in the sands of granite
That obligate a shape
by setting sedimentary.
Once a verbal speck.
Then a sauce-stained countertop.

And rub love’s weather with a spoon.
Precipitation stirs, eroding
roofs down to the cold brow of a basement tile.

Layer on liner, I repel—
Rope and resistance—
Like a proved watch on a string
Down the gutter of last June’s sediments
Into the heavy sea.

The red kitchen crust
Cracks like the voice of scared devotion,
making the distance between
us a pyramid.
Add a cabinet of polished deserts

And I’m hanging
On ancient geography.
Bruised by an evolution
Of flashing lights and cops and tracks
Of deposited trash stickers.

Hitting bottom and licking
The bowl of old bricks,
My tongue needed relief
And my log needed a canal
Before the cavity caved
And the heart shaved
Itself into the shape
Of regret. And was set.

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