Robert Beveridge: Two Poems

Echoes

Imagine
a room, with walls
of perfect reflection,
air devoid of friction.
Imagine speech,
a word, a sentence,
how it will bounce,
roll, traverse, curl,
caress, shower, burn,
hit, stab, crush,
repeat, repeat, repeat,
and never, ever degrade.

Imagine how it does not melt.

The Field

I still your breast
with my palm
gentle upon it
nipple stiffens

warm summer fog
envelops your body
my lips graze your stomach

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