Transgression
Poetry by Elizabeth MetzgerI know the dead are watching me naked.
It restores me. We spoon and fuck
harder than all their sick-loving widows, widowers.
There’s the relief of nothing being
for pleasure. Nobody drives.
I beg them to congregate around my invisible thoughts
and howl at my original animus
but all they want is a body. It’s fine.
They rope me to this world…
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