one leg of her tights hiked up –
her knee pit ribbed, and red
perforated – a dam in rain –
as the Buffalo grass blades
brushed their floury bodies against her
like the blonde hairs on my index finger
punched pleasure holes in my lips
that aperture opening only for parapraxis
the balled fist hung from my chin
like a sort of clammy Aleph
that ipso facto she hung within...
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