How Much Of Me? by Cody Davis

How much of my body is mine?
Divide your spaces in time to faces looking content,
or aroused,
or suspicious of those around those that known their roles and outcomes.
How much harder can I spell the rhythm
Of my heart that beats quicker when with a
Set of eyes that emit barium light and
flash bars that imprison an alter ego?
I don’t know.
How much of me is mine?
Or how to tell the time
Between lines that encompass a vocabulary,
High on truth with sex with muse
That carries love in spoons,
Dreams of honey moons,
And large rooms with books where children play?
So if you say so
I’d like to know, how much should I say I weigh
When I’m measured if I’m a man,
Can I stand with my shoulders broad?
Smile and nod?
Or do I melt on the floor like a snow storm?

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