To these feet
Slung along porch steps
A quick glance tells me
I could open wider to your gaze
(Perhaps bannister straddled,
Head resting on hands piled
Imagining you between rotting wood
And my softening belly)
The problem here is the looking
It’s for someone who’s already already
I’m no one’s already anymore but mine
I’m much more controversial
When I’m asleep
Much more likely to
Much more
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