Of Bodies

// Of Bodies

Do you think that bodies are
like bended rivers, unexpected
gusts of violent desire rushing
forth from the hidden folds of
dark curves and darkening moles?
Do you clutch these moles
like you clasp the craggy edges
of a mountain, when falling in
your nightmarish vision of death?
Do you think I’m here to save you?
Do you think I will if I were?
What changed in twenty years
that a dimpled elbow transformed
from a little girl’s hand they’d hold
when she crossed the road to
the hand of a woman you need to hold?
Do you think that bodies are
cheap shimmery glass-gin potions
of magic you’d bottoms-up and forget?
Do you think I’ll allow you to forget?
Do you think I will if I could?
What changed in twenty years
that they can no longer stand the sight
of her chest which they together
made sure would never crack?
Do you think a body is a torpedo
you can arrange to explode at a distance
from you, sans the singed embers
of grief and burning smell of anger?
Do you think a body is the unfolding
of a poetic image through a meandering
meadow, slivers of your ghastly revelation,
concrete, precise, measured, revised.

Do you think I’ll reveal you?
Perhaps, I will

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