This feels real
it is something I can touch with my
hand like a piece of sculpture
and get all the contours registered
in the proper order in the head.
I can pick it up, put it down,
walk round it, lie on it,
talk to it, there is no part of it
I cannot touch.  And all my
senses, if they work in synch,
will tell me what it is, how
it works, how it fits together.
All the time I have left I can
concentrate on it so I could
reproduce it by sheer thought
or mood when it isn't there.
It is a solid object in my hand,
a piece of living tissue
and it says I feel real to it
too.  Such sinew, such dynamic
movement, and its heart beats loud
when I come in the room.  It is
the only real tune of life played
in the head, it is the purpose of a bed,
the landmark of my life, my gaze,
I will live for it and in it, and
through it and by it, 
and in return, my mannikin,
with love
it will fill my days.
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