The Celloed Self

Anthony DeSantis


And I realized she was more than just body.
She was eyes. Eyes that shone like song;
dark and brooding and joyous and terrifying.
And terrifying because they weren't mine.
And terrifying because I didn't know how they saw.
And terrifying because I didn't know what they thought
as I lay naked in clothes warm and shivering
and she lay naked in flesh cold and confident and wonderful in flaws
embodied by fact and two f-holes inked on her back.


Bury your face and front into sheets and raise your celloed self
so that I may graze lifted skin penned black
with trembling hands,
all thumbs,
turned to two left feet.

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