pocket.
there's more to me than what i was born with.
i keep the mechanical gears
that keep my mind moving
in pockets.
they lie close to my skin,
warm and almost alive.
when my tongue
and ears,
pores and nails
fail to communicate my incessant need for order
or the solidarity that i seek
i dig in the narrow burrows
searching for the pieces of me
that god deemed unnecessary.
in pockets
we hide secret smiles
and unanticipated comfort.
there's more to us than
naked struggling bodies.
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