portion of the artwork for Claudia F. Savage's poem

Rubbing Symmetry
Claudia F. Savage

In the dark                                    we might.

The same three feet                    for hours.

If I were a painter, I would charcoal
your outline. Slow. Careful. Each
freckle, each hair.

Both crave                                    and refuse light.

Back to chest we stand over the bathroom sink.
Your chin on my head. My color returns—
pale, tinged with emeralds. Above me, you burn
lit pomegranate.

Is there a candle                          I can’t remember.

You lead me to the still damp sheets. Shiver.
Shiver. Before we

comet the night.                          Awaken dead stars.

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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 47 | Spring 2016