~ Mimosa pudica

My leaves close in darkness and furl 
open again in light. They shrink 
back at the approach or press  
of movement, can tell

a water drop apart
from a finger stroke. How lucky 
you are not to know what it's like 
for a hand to emerge out of nowhere 

to graze every little hair running
down your side. You think the body has
no memory. You think shame must be
the only reason for retreat.

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