Exit Wound

We migrant flesh
Collide but do not touch
For which we give
A thousand apologies
And more.

A life of parts this

Whispered journey kissed
By gravity the
Lone bare intimacy
We share; the
Everlasting tug, the
Great agnostic tide, the
Mute experience of weight, the
Quantum intercourse
Between a mass and
Any other mass
In motion or at rest.

Flesh at rest
Makes widows of our bones:
The once soft now
Just cosmic smoke.

A narrow grave so like an

Exit wound where
Parts depart for
Parts unknown; the
Hard parts stay behind
But now are out of touch.