[CB T]I’m-e

If I didn’t know much 

better 

(tho’ actually

I do), I’d argue this 

passed time –

the rhymes and sow

4th, as sow 

4th it does now stand – was a 

huge

CBT, designed

to counter-

act, on world-

liked managed stage, the

ageing I’d been 

submitted to by my partner of 

thin suffering and

thick wagering: oh, and what a bet

I did loose on the small

scheme of my tiny 

living; a loving tossed to the 

decades of hears of 

such

badness, so be-

calmed.

And now I am braking free

of the ranked

liberties she supposedly [PR]-

offered me,

when we pro-

seeded to publicly kiss

and privately misssss …

‘Cos I do want to fuck,

for goodness sake: not unkindly nor hurtingly;

nor roughly, either; nor vengeful at all; just

the justices of people who 

sew so 

natural and

then happily share and seem – and seam! – their

bodies and inner-

most

parts – with those glorious 

permissions of luverly! 

to bring together,

and not – in trauma – separate.

Really, 

dear reader (for we are both all and one …)

is this truly too much to ask?

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