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Disarmed, for T.C.

























On my back on the table in this your calm room

            you caress my ankles and will my body tributaries 



to rise up and meridians to exhale 

Your knowledge like pulling taffy with buttered
            hands   Your strength redirects my body’s river 
which you lift and stretch    

 

Then you place a wafer of a small white pillow over my eyes

            that I might entirely succumb     to your warm hands draping 
like weighted blankets over each of my resting shoulders 

 

With intention    drifting toward chest      measuring every 
            underground hillock in these my pliable appendages 
Rag doll    Ballerina flutter 


You know each finite twist as you precisely roll 
            my relinquished wing 

inward   then out   my shy face sensing the sun      

 

breeze-like     dragon fly lithe

spine holding then unfolding

 

You press hard with your palm on the top of my right hand
            (The discovery of braille)    fingers blanket fingers
leveraged from neck tendon to  

            whole sand dunes rolling 

            down to ocean 

 

I breathe to readjust     locked knees and hidden trip wires

            lifting old weight     You move the stream’s trajectory again  

 

I bend only as you direct then    Warm candy
I melt   You row  I melt 

 

you row.

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