enough, i want the

in a series of reactions calculated,
measured to the nearest tenth
and timed just so,
surrender scours my flesh
as it washes me clean and bright
as unfused bone;

i become a limber branch– an extension
of your trunk, rippling tributary to your silent river
and in the space of seconds clicking into place
around each hair on my body

i bend; i twist at a touch to my spine,
suddenly agile, to find lips meeting toes
in a whispered conversation peppered with obscene interjection.
twist a lock of my hair and another door opens;

i am your hall of mirrors, infinitely echoing your glory.

my breath is tangled somewhere in my trachea
and i think i hear it whistling rather melodiously
through a crack in my armor,
but this war was won before it was realized

and it is time for you to collect the spoils.

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