bwg poem: Edit Her

NT - Concentric design

I want her to edit;
I want her hands,
(her fingers),
her eyes,
her lips.

I want her to edit—
my words;
graze them;
pull them,
expose their roots.

Her eyes flit.
She is planting seeds, across
red-marked pages,
row upon row…

She never says, “NO.”
Instead, her mouth says,
“adjust the form,” while
it breaths…
like a cool duel.

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