A Toast to New Moles on Old Bodies

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X., you join me at this late hour. You come uninvited, like an apparition emerging from smoke, or a hallucination from eating too much, or a stray cat asleep on my porch. You posture like a drunk god, self-satisfied with your creative genius. I admire the way you throw yourself into the mix with confidence, the way you establish a presence without needing to insist on it. Anyway, there’s no getting rid of you without violence, and I don’t have the stomach for more violence. Unless you leave on your own, we’re together until the end. Since we don’t know our future, let’s toast the present. I’ll drink for us both, but first these words:

Body, I love you, not least of all
because you give me space
to drink, to think, to make things up
at our particular pace.


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Andy Browns is a full-time freelance writer and writing coach based in Richmond, Va.