Micro-universes in her unborn womb
Any of them you, in nature's scribblings
Before you, then, was it still you?
Your body's hues are ancient accidents
He a huntsman of pleasure, and she born of the nymph,
They took a chance at bypassing abstinence
If he took not her, would you still be you?
Your first breath, the doctor's knife,
Snatches of pride, sadness and laughter
That lady who dressed as your wife
If images disappear, will you still remain?
In the depths of dreams and shocks of wonder
In blurring of memories and nostalgia tender
Sadness, sweetness, sharpness shapes
You, but when all is still, is it still you?
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