when you went away it was morning
(that is,big horses;light feeling up
streets;heels taking derbies (where?) a pup
hurriedly hunched over swill;one butting
 
trolley imposingly empty;snickering
shop doors unlocked by white-grub
faces) clothes in delicate hubbub
 
as you stood thinking of anything,
 
maybe the world….But i have wondered since
isn’t it odd of you really to lie
a sharp agreeable flower between my
 
amused legs
                kissing with little dints
 
of april,making the obscene shy
breasts tickle,laughing when i wilt and wince

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