What did she feel when the bare-chested man
with legs apart on the arms of the chair
leaned back and gazed, at her bareness -
forced as a mark of her lowness,
piled on to her defiled existence?
Did she think why she couldn't be
in the chair herself, and why not the very man
with folded arms bow to her and cringe,
with the humiliation of appearing naked to her,
bereft of modesty, avoiding her lusty gaze, more painful
than the worst rape? How they rob you
of the language of dreams...
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