In the gaze of the other

"My mistress' eyes are nothing…"

And Yet You Know…

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We visit our then, a scrim of sense, diffusing pleasure like burning lemon oil 

and surfeit our now, a false dredge of real, deferring the candy-colored recoil.  

Bodies heaped in undulating ether, sweat-sore and sticky smiles, lie assured

the way it never was, but ever lives in imagination craved of slick-thin succor.

 

I was never that woman, you never that man, and yet we perform our analysis

like religion, like cookie dough on a sheet, anticipating the rise and melt of us.

At last I ceased tracking the trailer down an outstretched road to preview then.

Steady we blow, chime-sounding earth’s heaving guts of it all in resolved amen.

 
credit: http://www.i4wardsolutions.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/link.jpg

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