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90 Another Poet Writes About Love Another poet writes about love and I’m puzzled. It’s out there for him in what he calls a lady. He says she touches him lightly on the ribs, but I’m sure it’s just his idea that’s touched. Something’s missing in his conception of completion. He wants her to bring it to him, be Eve at nightfall coming home, completing him with tenderness. I have been with women enough to want tenderness igniting, sending the ribs out to their filled extension and sparks of flame down the dry tendrils of my arms. I want to die and rise and never be completed in tenderness. I want to burn the covering plants to the ground and mulch them under. I want good black earth instead of love. ...

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