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You are still asleep, a hickey across your collarbone
and those biceps left soft. The moon comes in
from the window, and outside, the breasted robins squawk awake.
I, estranged Psyche, analyze your crevices and eyes,
trying to see how you take your eggs.
I want to make a good first impression.
J.B. Kalf is currently slipping on ice. Best of the Net nominated, and has been published or forthcoming within The Shore, Timber, Roi Faineant, Inkfish Magazine, Does It Have Pockets, #Ranger, and elsewhere. Prefers limes to lemons and can be found on Instagram @enchilada_photo and Bluesky @enchilada89.