They are, by common
measures,
disproportionately
shaped.
No wonder
people gape. Especially
at him. Each huge ungainly
limb
galumphs its nakedness
across
whatever acreage the law
permits him
to be in. He is a lot
to see.
He knows the most
secluded corners,
nooks and
reaches of nude beaches.
She admires his audacity. She knew
he loved her awkward
neck and head.
“So what if
people gawk?” she said.
Her questions
mainly were rhetorical.
She felt
herself becoming allegorical
by merely
sitting on his back.
All sense of
lack began to fade.
She was a
lady with a purpose.
As she sat, wherever
she could
manage to, upon
his surface,
she’d felt
they’d something to proclaim.
They gave
dysmorphia a sweeter fame.
Bodies were a
metaphor for oddities
one had to
drag from here to there.
They’ve long
learned not to care
when people
stare, or glare.
They joy in being rare.
.
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