Kissing whispers into’n ear--
tink tink-- of a lightful flame
Ceaseless and cool to touch.
“Just talking shop,” he says,
but I overheard him say it too
Grease stained, grit black nailbeds--
“Don’t go getting poetical
Just bringing nothing but trouble back”
Plum plump, or tasty too
and mouthfuls and mouthfuls
Toe tripping on caveyard cracks
Matchbook strikers send sparks, and us too.
I asked
It doesn’t really matter to me or to whom shall I look
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