By Mary X

There are times when you simply
cannot do anything.

You lay there in Medusa’s
ugly vision, sat in granite

with nothing apart from
the breast you are touching.

It isn’t even a breast,
just a pocket of air

that your mind urges you to think is
a beautifully sculpted woman.

That doesn’t matter though,
we find our pleasures

whether it be a candle’s tone
a man’s fingering hand

or the piece of gentle anatomy
that you have held in your pocket.

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