for my hands are limp as empty gloves.
Let my words stroke your hair,
slide down your back, and tickle your belly.
For my hands, white 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 that they may caress you gently within."
— Mark O’brien “Love Poem to No One in Particular”
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