70 I never touched myself like this before. My nipples were not little silver bells To harden under restless hungry hands And whine with echoes in my every bone. I never stood beneath the blooming tree Alone, with eyes wide open in the dark -- To drink with every hole the driest wine And see how flowers stir inside of me. I never touched myself not with my hands, I never carried anybody's eyes, I never stood inside of me at nights, But now I'm filled with silver from your shade.







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IRENE CĂSAR
Confined Verse
Collected Poems

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