August 2001 / Volume Two / Issue Two
Amanda McGuire

My arms are two branches
of hollow skin-bark reaching
out towards a nothingness
I do not understand.
Even if you are here,
my muscles are non-existent.
Iím pulling you in with lust.
Later, I may wish
you were with me in a bar
or in a bed in my arms.
I might pretend someone
else is you
or try to recreate
your bony arms with mine,
cradling myself the way
you would, almost cutting
off my air supply.
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