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animal truths


I like it when you pull me close,
still half-asleep and dreaming,
murmuring warm nonsense into my ear.
I like your arms around me,
your mute arms slumber-heavy,
dense with animal gravity,
exuding your heady, sweet sleep-scent
that is different from your awake-scent.
I know that before languages, before images,
before the theater of shadows,
there’s a true story that lives within your body,
within all your cells that are awake when you are dreaming.
Our animal cells remember —
primordial ocean, motherwomb,
tangled nest, earthen burrow,
surrounded and surrounding,
unmarred by images — there lies
the animal truth of you and me,
our breaths braiding together in the darkness.