Mystery



The mystery of this rough sensation--
You have small grains of sand on your chin
which mark the chopping of time
by two or three arms.

I play with the coarse sand with clipped
fingers--until you are perplexed.
You make a sharp response by showing
some white and hazel. Your eyes.

So I wake you up. Sandy chin then tickles
a neck and the middle of a torso. My giggles
intend no harm.

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