Bodies

Your neck is a neck.

Your arms are arms.

Your body is only a body.

My body has secret meanings

     which you're supposed to guess at, I suppose,

curves haunting curves it is.

My neck is Temptation.

My arms is Trap.

My body is a treasure map.

Dumb digits fumble

over an architecture of archetypes,

misunderstanding the mystery.

Yet,

     in ignorance,

treated as a body, it

into I live,

and inhabit

the kingdom of felt.