Proletarian daughters kiss the earth
And I’d take them any time over those castle mistresses
From towers, from North and West,
I protect them with my arm’s umbrella
That forms neatly over their bodies
Those quiet moments when we are most alive
Tenderly tucking arms between the folds
Lifting the covers up yurt-like, we play
For hours and sometimes days
Lost in the folds; I sing your song:
A girl who practices her
Pirouette by night
Without instructors
Against a broken mirror
For the circus beneath our feet.
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