Touch
Recoil at the touch :
but it was my dear name
pressing its cheek against my hand
A battered dog left on a chain
its neck ringed in sores and scabs
If only surrender were option enough if only
it were not a release our bodies are so transparent
they are mosquito nets made of gold mesh
hanging over a bed of feathers
All of this is to say that they disintegrate upon touch
but they do love to touch
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