There's something sexual about a yawn.
It climaxes and goes nowhere
but into the thin air.
And I think the air keeps it,
and remembers it
when we don't.
Like the time I went driving
nowhere in a car
and didn't quite think,
until this week, about it.
When the car was gone,
and the ride-over.
poem by Marina Gipps
Added by Poetry Lover
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