Small

Mike Bell/ February 22, 2017/ www.mikebellpoems.com/ 0 comments

You, mine,
ever-untouched
a local distance,
my unexplored
smallest thing,
my yet-to-erect,
my yet-to-strip,
huge-to-be mistress,
still without a cry
under me, here,
your Fisher King,
moved, no place,
a groin-wounding.

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