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From Christopher Sodden:

March 12, 2018

You can tear away every tatter
until there is nothing but your raw,
ridiculous flesh, you can scour
your conscience till she knows

every shameful crime that blackens
you like ash. You can murmur prayers
at her miraculous crux, worship
her nipples so delicately the chills
will bring her closer to the grave.

We reach and we reach, aching
to swim in that lunar placenta,
drench our gorilla hide in milky
song of undiluted mercy. She will never
tell you that uncomplicated smile is
stifling disappointment.

Immaculate

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