If we could reach into the clinging skin
Dissolve the cells, pulverise the nuclei,
What might we not know?

If we could press on past the unremitting kisses,
The searching mouth, instead delve deep the mind,
What might not be revealed?

If we could splinter through the pulsing flesh,
The abnegating joy, to perfect being,
What might we not find?

Perhaps only a terrifying nothing
In the space beyond skin and flesh and cell.
Perhaps only a great denial
Of any extension of existence.

Only one thing is certain;
We would never face each other again, but,
Like idiots, seek forever the world beyond the real
In other, still unaccommodating bodies.


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