She was ten years younger than me,
complaining
of the cold arthritic pain in her hands
and the imagined fat upon her lithe form,
both she took as signs of the arriving winter,
but I complimented my lover for a day
on her tight pepperbox,
which had grated me raw,
so that when I left her
I walked with summer warmth.









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Poemission
Seasoned










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