my rib

though made from the soil of the ground
the potter fashioned me in his sameness and in his character
i am made to till the soil where i was made from
unto me were living creatures endowed
but i have no one to share the warm and the cold
i have not a face-to-face mate to rub my skin with like the blanket would do on me at nite
the apes cannot be a good mate

out of the divine anesthesia
my rib, my woman, my mate
she came forth with the living sameness of the potter‘s emotion
oh my help meet product of my rib
flexible but strong
breakable but protective
i was told you should by my side not my feet always
because you are a finished product of a bone from my side bone.

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