La petite mort

 

I stand in front of you

A stripped bottle of wine

No age, no place of birth

No knowledge of what I’m worth

And then, I find myself expecting the worst

Expecting to be used because I’m warm and soft

And moist

Weeping from a place I know you happen to desire most

Struck by a thought

More vigorously than lightning could

‘Do I crave any part of you at all?’

Because the land that is my body

Though visited by you

Remains undiscovered

 

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