In the Dark

Maril Crabtree

Take away light
and the world grows
larger and smaller –

a whisper travels
down your spine and
saturates the room

a finger’s brush
ignites a candle
and a continent

a tongue’s flick
ushers your body
through free-falling

space and the inside
of an orchid’s
throat – you glide

to the ceiling and dive
into your lungs
where the breath

feels hushed, hidden,
waiting for the tender
graze and final crush

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