Harmless She

Peachy clean
naïve as hell
new born arms
on a docile, moldable body
although it agrees, the she inside is never quite sure

her voice still in utero
silently it struggles
to win its first fight
to ask
If her first step can be a run
If she can take her first cruise
If it can be a trip down South

desperate for the pain of peachy skin pierced by gravel
running the whole way down, down
South where her skin wants to be bruised
grazed to infection
by that grey hot sand
notoriously prehistoric


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