Enigma

In the dry corridors of my soul

wind sorrows around me, pressing

shame into zip-locked silences where

words crumble and vaginal cords have

forgotten how to sing.

 

But when I wanted to become

liquid, I reached with a furious

burning for a pure touch. God,

maybe. Or a man in His likeness.

 

He became me. I became him.

And we were one for a time

ignoring distance or circumstance

holding onto nothing except

a squeezed heart that refills

with hesitation

a silver pearl that

cups the breath and textures

of his inaccessible skin.

 




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