on the down side of morning
when life has not yet become real
I am quietly deformed
by the set of your jaw
words not said
I am left fearfully alone
unreal
as the morning
I thought I was a woman once
or did I but dream hands that measured me for warmth
did I really know a soft cupping of breast
night breaths playing
on a hungry shoulder
bodies front to back
rocking
in primal recall
no
I am a place to stream anger
frustration
a place to rub emotions
not a woman
but a place
I am a quiet deformity that afflicts you
on the down side of morning
when life has not yet become real
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