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She took her sharpest scissors
A pair of steel with no stains,
And carefully laid her left leg out
On the kitchen table.
A long pale item,
Resembling a fleshy land spit
On a worn wooden scape of sea.

She needed to know.

It’s best to start at the feet,
She decided, what with them being fiddly;
Five rococo wagglers on display,
And slipped the infinitesimally fine blades
Between toe and sole, soul and toe.

There’s a dotted line around the edge.
‘How considerate, and practical’ – thought She.
And once she’d navigated the fussier parts,
(Ears, fingers, and nose, nips and nethers)
It was plain transcendental sailing from there on in.
A hot- knife through the buttery, spectral surface.
And then…twas done.

A warning tag popped out all of a sudden;
‘Please keep to the line with precision,
Or risk a half with/half without conclusion
And consequently end up a half wit.
Guaranteed for a *googolplex (10googol),
*see terms and conditions.
Dry clean only.
Do not iron.
Keep away from the devil.
Made to measure.
Bespoke.
Spooky shit.
One eighth swapped to date.’

Feeling oddly two dimensional,
She laid her soul carefully on the rocking chair,
Draped in an elegant fashion,
And saw the patch immediately,
Another elements element sewn, blanket stitch,
To her own being seamlessly,
Melding and mending the existential gap.

A perfect match.

Gratified she climbed onto the rickety table,
Neatly bounced upon her heels twice,
And then dove gracefully through the centre of the shady shifter,
Sealing it back in place again at speed with a resounding ‘pop!’
The warmth flooded her body, and self was contained once more,
She had all her dimensions back and some.

Peace of mind, and a soul of two pieces.

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