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Andrea
Ten days.
Gently, toes touch.
Bodies pronate on slab of marmo
in the garden of frozen women-
some headless, only a body with which to present
themselves.
Corpo: Not your desire.
you wished to engage my spirit.
Anima: The proper word for the insides.
Not intestine and corpuscled cavities,
but a nebulous thing.
The gist was received as words crackled and puzzle-pieced together:
fell from your lips just as bark was pulled from the albero.
But you said ti voglio bene
for the caresses not given.
This is our story—
me: left longing but for the absence of flesh
you: shards in hands, the crushed hopes of conversion.
-By Sarah Evans
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