Sunday, May 11, 2014

Monday 12th May

Anne Carson watches her branch, or she doesn't.
I have my breast.
lounging now, a sideways slide
soft and braless under cotton. At rest.
And last night the nipple grazed the porcelain bowl,
thrown forward, rocked back by the seasick lurch of my body
wracked and shivering.
It is a different beast
on this flaccid day of rest.

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