shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Kate LaDew

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tracing the veins wrapping round

the little hollows of your wrist
I find tendons sharp and white
leading into everything inside you

at the fold of your arm
I count two pulses
they taught me never to measure with my thumbs
the beating of your own heart will trick you

(I don't believe in God
but every now and then
something makes me stop and wonder)

I glide my fingers up to your neck,
just under the jaw
and feel a symphony