The Force

My poem about your hand under my
shirt on my shoulder surprised you,
you said, how a simple act like this is deepened.
True, but only in self-defense because
I know, love, you are a Jedi knight who 
uses the Force to make me float above you all night,
who performs mind tricks that make me do
what I tell myself I want to do to you.
So, yes, my shoulders are lucky things
and I’ve been a little jealous of them lately;
so many parsecs in me they’ve traveled today
after you said on the phone, I kiss you, I kiss them,
that the transmissions have gone too faint, too
close to a heart they have taken for a sun.

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