I could explore the spaces
in-between
where your mind compliments your
skin—tight
around your hipbone
disappearing into pants.

I could bring together this separateness, feel peace
of mind,
Not thinking of discredited bodies
leading minds, disasters.

I could drop these morals, set fire to clocks and write to priests about
how little time I have.

I would then break pencils and
draw you in abstract curves
surrounded by lead smudges and desire takes shape.

You pass unawares. A sex object.

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