Interblanketary Migration


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The border is the thin space 
Between twin beds
The visas are willing bodies 
Lightly toasted 
In the oven of desire 
The passports are 
Lusty looks exhanged
Rolled over and inspected

In the dim lighting of
Visceral hunger 
Customs check involves 
Prodding tongues 
Groping fingers 
Patting down secret places 
In search of hidden truths 
Finally, passage is granted 
And one body travels
Across border 
Till the two are ensconced
underneath one blanket 
Making the journey together.


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