May 27, 2011
By Anonymous

Alone, old Self portrait fades as the glass fogs 
running water 
breaths tearing ancient frustrations
In my recent past
This case  of glass
Held hard soft
Self sweet love
Self help trying to relate
To one self
Exploration of impulses
Instinctive tales
Held by condensing inner
Sex spirit 
Shaped by mimicking
Drip drops of tap water

Holding you the marble seems to be cold but flexible beneath my back
Beneath wet eyelashes I can
See the filmy hologram

And I
Felt as if my elbows
wrapped around 
were sister magnets
My breasts pressed
Hips bent outwards 
Feeling full
Yet my eyes hungry

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