is a fist
we feel in the squeeze
that happens
when a future
is poured
into the offered well.
The vice threatens before
release and the fall hits
harder than an apple -
the sense of His fingers
drives repetition of an act
that beguiles lives, sparks words.
The poet writes to find the weak link
in that grip
and His hand unravel; finger and nail,
palm and lifeline –
mortal coil loosened, mirrors
lips separating after a kiss, saliva
distressed at the disconnection from
intent.
Freedom lies in the ink
not the semen.
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