my thighs and stomach are
soft and my belly is full of
cheese and wine and fruit.
my skin is cool and pale but full and my hands
give me nostalgia for when they were small and padded with childhood’s natural safeguard.
now they are rough and leaner and a big vein protrudes from the middle of the back of each.
i often don’t recognize my body.
i look down at my forearm or feet or
feel my shoulder or hip and i don’t know who i am.
but right now, it’s okay. i am content,
i feel melancholy on the opposing edge.
soft and passionless happiness.


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