I sneak looks at you.
You are round and rosy
laughter peals through your stories
your eyes shine,
We are pulled towards your centre.
You are ripe
luscious
You are woman.
I am sharp
angled edges
I am empty-
the crow tearing strips
from your garbage.
I teeter
at the edge of your
possibility.
I don’t have it
I am not it
I am the cold shade
in your shine.
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