In the gaze of the other

"My mistress' eyes are nothing…"

Offering

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In up turned palms of prayerful offering, 

soft words cupped like baby talc 

coated thighs on which a solitary salty drop 

lands lifting feathery mist of dusty scent, 

I hand precious sense without language. 

No vessel to contain this thing, 

cradle this wordless um, huh, uh…

hum of tremble, soundless sigh, 

flicker of static sinking into swollen thick 

wall linings, padded and mucid 

in dank uterine hospitality clinging

bound for blastocystic burgeoning drift.

 

photo credit:  http://wp.production.patheos.com/blogs/spiritchatter/files/2013/11/offering-hands.jpg

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