"To show the laboring bosom's sweet intent,"*
Dream with eyes open
eyes splattered on a page
every letter staring.
Scream with mouth closed
tongues prodding on a page
licking threatening teeth.
Succumb to sweet nothings
while loving
through graphite whispers.
*Phillis Wheatley, To S.M., a Young African Painter, on Seeing His Works
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