and dance
like shadows
across my skin.
He believes
if he swallows a pubic hair
he'll get sick.
The ritual of it…
the strange rejection.
Suppose he swallowed one
and in his belly
grew a tree,
not a real tree…
a tree of light
with luminescent limbs
adorned in colored leaves
wet with dew-
a manna tree.
Lying still
I sense the upward reaching
deep in my root.
A tree shines
in the dark void
that is born
of sex.
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