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untitled (Free verse) by Desdemona
Hands are god are for god sealed with and sent off lovingly
overnight delivered at extra charge to reach you in time
palm and finger washed and ready to be opened received
inserted urgently he says in effort to help you get not pain
or curled fists ever seen god uses the back door so the
neighbors won't talk tip fingers in warmest of fleshconfession
shamewalked out more after you and hand grabbing arm
gave finger-to-spine justification of the gross night story
spun when eyes and mind were off duty but memory was paid overtime
cold flat reminder of face of hollow absence of clean white
hands beg to hold one but i have already mailed them.
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