rises slowly
as if pinched or touched
or held or licked or rubbed against the palm
it rises
slowly
a little inching thing
wizened by desire
stiffened
hardened
like the soles of my feet
or my soul as I trudge
towards death
rises
slowly
off the soft flop of my dusty breast
as you point
magician. hand of Michelangelo
creating the hand of god
as you hold your finger
almost close enough to touch
but not quite
tight bud
not quite
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