To raise heat, she knows/to dance in snowfalls./ She wept before she left him/tears caught in her tissue,/a salute to a sense of safety./Valves in the heart,/valves in the mind,/muscles that say: I’m sorry./They wither as they leap/ they wind up on her backside,/She has baleful, mourning eyes/like doves lined in odd numbers/leave narrow feathers/as gifts found by victims./Gifts given by another man,/leaves her swooning,/on an empty stomach/her passionless eyes roam./It’s easy to be unaware/of silent threaded eyes/ admired to a certain degree./In company she goes further/to find entrapment./A machine makes it manlike/it guards us from our brothers.
As She Turns, She Whirls
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