Who Is Not Me But a Metaphor

It’s OK
Say it
No
Out loud  

Good, good
Next time yr held
Or perhaps holding — that
Core warm brand of love
— Say it, again
Just above a whisper

It’s OK
Say it
To the sea wind
To the cheap crumpled bed sheets
          by whom?
To that masterfully grown blood orange
          you’re about to peel and lick
Say it
And you shall be freed.

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