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Literature

His penis hanging between his legs
like a vandalised telephone, or some
deep-sea creature that cannot bear
solitude, so it hangs on,

this naked man is what I am –
and yet how unlike me he seems,
surprised in this mirror I was dashing past
on my way through the house at 4 a.m.

And when a light comes on somewhere,
quick as a flash he turns away
like a man who would keep his truth concealed,
this Rosebud, this Jekyll, this Dorian Gray.