Fistgame

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7

I am the earth, given identity
in three dimensions of compressed desires;
great dullness and a weight distinguish me
from his acuter wit; but since my mass
must overpower his thrust even as he
outshines, outraces me in daytime’s dazzle,
I shall blunt him yet; and as for her,
she whom his nature constantly must scar,

I’m powerless to brave her folding sweep,
her delicate embrace and perfect skin
that creases as if pained to gather me
and close about my roughness like a womb.
And if she lives in terror of his reach,
she recreates and multiplies; I merely teach.

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