The woman sits there all the day
And body’s sitting says nothing .
She has a mortality on her body.
It is a body image , of her by her.

Her body image is a far cry from
Mine and yours when we walked
Swinging our arms up and down.
That was when we thought arms

Went up in the eyes of other men .
It was when we carried briefcase.
Sometimes we carried umbrellas.
That was body image by us of us.

Now we are sitting here in  room
In the middle of rain moth wings.
Our body’s sitting says a nothing
A far cry from our arms swinging.

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