my imagination satisfied
so long it has glanced up
at the silver cord
felt its tug
strained on its leash
knowing flesh could not
satisfy the imagination
that holds it bound
in exhausting hungers
dry regret masking
moist memory
ignorantly wishing
it were what it in reality is
but sightless of that fact
yearning instead
for what it wants the facts
to be
and no matter here but
for nonplussed onlookers
who'll live to see me
living to see them
seeing me...
Content (c) 2008-2010 Philip Milito.
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