I see her shape,
inside her mind.
From outside, too:
the two align in every
moment guard is down,
so naturally rapport
is found. Undone
in frown, with every
flick distrust snakes in
by fault and crack
of whip. The two
diverge again. In
painful stretch
the distance
bends.
But who am I
to say or see? How
she sees this, or self
or me. It does seem
plain.
She's beautiful,
and knows it, too,
when we wax full.
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