As I unlove

Men, I ought to have loved
from birth and beyond
have made me sense laser beams

Sharp and sudden threads of silk

pulled at random, over the senses

The weaver and his machine

and the arrow marks of pain

and then,

when the suddenness leaves,
choking my throat,
inevitable indifference,
casual cruelty,
and more, a vomit of scorn
defines the later me.

As I unlove


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