verse it up

Corners who touch
in triangular
pinch, links, you are
the urge in occupying

underwater sandtraps.
Nightsweats. I bracelet
physical mysticisms,
move and able glass

to cradle my stiches.
You come loose,
your urge wriggles
from gold to copper

near hypothermia.
Stop away the cavern
of pinched froth—
angling specimens,

I wriggle free.
So mystical,
another corner.
My stopping is magnetic.