©2023 michael raven

memory meat for
the grist mill
dreams will feast

come down to mercy street
window shop and see
naked lunch on display
kiss my neck and
say just how much we
have loved, shackles
dangling from limp wrists

my own arabian nights
storied tales are told
of my unmasking
until the sun spreads
across bare breasts as
the mourning dove sighs

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