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In the Mid-Morning

So I'll do it then (why don't I?),

I'll whisper out these sensual things

That I, in my independence, allow myself

To feel in only fleeting thoughts and glimpses:

To be seated-- either one of us-- in a chair

Positioned upright, and for the other to

Climb atop, or to be seated-- either one of

Us-- on a bed positioned upright,

And for the other to wrap around the waist from behind,

The head pressed to the base of the spine

And the hands to be placed on chest and stomach

And the hands to be placed on the back of thigh and arm,

And to be breathing just off beat,

And to know the relishing and the relinquishing are the same.

This is not the consumptive desire of devouring

Skin with mouth;

This is the consuming urge to mold and mush 

And be bodily understood.

This is hands under shirt sleeves and knees over elbows;

This is an ouroboros of two folded over itself, hiding head and tail;

This is thumbs over eyelids and hair run between other fingers and messed over, exposing scalp;

This is upper & inner thighs upon one another;

This is feet on calves and noses behind ears;

This is eyes soft & longing, locked & loaded, eager & opened;

This is me wanting: Everything.

-Alison Belle Bews (2020)

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