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Her Block

Her block binds me.
The gaze doesn't match.
I, a few inches taller, see more.
I can see her head,
round and shiny like a buddha belly.
Oh wise and holy one.
I bow down to you-
Your cuteness humbles me.

It's orange light, pulling tight around everything.
It's a membranous wrap.
Rubbery and elastic.
I going to pull it apart and give it new shape.
I can make this into whatever I want.

And there you are
in your coat that fits too big.
Your fingers poking out,
holding scissors.
Busy, cutting tiny figures
out of colored construction paper.
This is you.   This is me.

This is your figure-
wear it well.
You will always be this person-
I, on the other hand,
change with the climate.
It's hot now,
doesn't your skin cinge
when you touch my hand?

And you still haven't answered me.
Why do you call her?
She can't speak anymore.
She's just image.
You toil too much
with the turmoil.
It'll bite back and fog your mind,

This closure doesn't sit well.
You will always be bound-
to this relationship.
Cut the teether,
Set us free.