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Thursday
Nov182004

lilac skin

it is there. Undeniable, in the cool-

hot touch of your hand, the way it

cuts the layers of grief, the day's air 

would travel the champs elysees

for just one touch. Sweet,

it is wanted. Welcome.

Too long you've come undone

choked on lover's spit, seen yourself

as some dark and dowdy nun,

always on your knees,

always begging for something,

to be loved, as if you were

so unlovable, so frightful.

Who then is this girl today?

This woman, full-breasted

and giddy, a tango of excitement

in her feathers and gold shoes.

In the mirror she is unrecognizable;

a creature of sprite, a nymph

playful, she carries light, some

luminous, bounding look

as she moves between the tables

as she finds her way home

as she finds a path back to life

as she finds a path to love

as if for the first time ever.

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