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Untitled (Strict Poem)
I shackle you to a bed post.
I pulse an image
    infront of your eyes.
I show you a complex for your thought.
I take from the kitchen sweet desserts.

I eat my desserts with you...
    on the bed...
    you in shackles,
    I in black.



 1996 David Greg Harth
96.10.07.01:30:00@31USQWNYC