While we were all exploring our new sexualities

His stories handcuffed me.

From the rows of Tinder roses

His lips were like the Persian threads

Upon which I could sleep a thousand and one nights.

The Ezra Pound poem, The Encounter, is really challenging me to think about what Imagist poems can/could/should mean to this contemporary moment… where Image and objectification of Self into an image is the literal starting point of so many (most?) relationships today.

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