Saturday, January 17, 2015


No hands no, no, away from the bag,
no grease to grease.
No wish to be left alone,
but in wishing so,
no desire to accept other hands,
smothering my food,
breeding with the leavings
of other hands on it.
Away from my food.
Don't touch,
don't taste.
I'm here,
but don't taste.

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