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You bruise easily
symptoms of lust
become signs, the stigmata
of our cages opening inwards.
What the bloom perceives in the bud
that will be our intimacy.
Climb over me, luminous and quiet.
Our bodies will talk
at the edge of their knowledge
like children and hermits
in the etched syllabary
of blind artists.
(C) Eric Ashford July 08
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Dayton
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