Iris Pool
The anticipation of
Not knowing
If my fantasy of you
Is being relieved.
To taste and touch you
and then share
my flesh with yours.
Hoping for an expected
Ironic disposition of a
Holy archetype.
I try to rid myself of
This mutation—a handicap
All too familiar.
I lose myself
In your eyes and
I falsely believe that
They are mine
To swim in.
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