I'm not anyone to grant anything,
other than my humble self.
A real, vertical one.
Do I read you?,
you asked.
Do I see, feel, smell you?
Damn it, but I do!
I feel your rational self,
even venting reasonable anger.
Your lusty self,
disdaining how, why and wherefore.
We're on wavelength,
as you're my semiopaque mirror,
I might (just might) be yours.
My sensorial antennae get you,
and that terrifies you.
No knots,
no chains.
You fear yourself in my arms,
come and prove me wrong
when you like.
I've got a life to wait,
and I said it to your face.
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