no 12

Like a hand clenched, grapsing hard
but not grapsing onto anything,
holding nothing
but emptiness;
holding nothing
but what was there a moment ago.

Like a hand clenched, my body.

For so many weeks I wouldn’t sleep
with this tight, anxious worry.

But I am not sleeping tonight,
but this gentle unease is something new.

What is this?
This is desire.
I want to unclench my body,
I want to touch you.

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This entry was posted in 2012, Multimedia, Numbers, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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