I always wished that
I had compact hips
Instead of my
Sprawling, basket-like own.

The triangle that forms between
My belly’s button and the two
Rounded handles of each Hip bone
is lazy, relaxed, like reclining

On a bed with golden sheets of
Egyptian cotton in my boyfriend’s
Basement of a room. Now those other hips,
That structure so unlike mine,

They seem so, ah, easy.
Easier to contain, to hold.
But I suppose that they aren’t
Like mine for a reason.

Although that reason is
lost to me.


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