‘The Sessions’ – Mark O’Brien
Let me touch you with my words
For my hands lie limp as empty gloves
Let my words stroke your hair
Slide down your back
And tickle your belly
For my hands, light and free flying as bricks
Ignore my wishes
And stubbornly refuse to carry out my quietest desires
Let my words enter your mind
Bearing torches
Admit them willingly into your being
So they may caress you gently
Within
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