Friday, February 24, 2017

The couple at February's end

he holds his tricks
tucked up his white sleeves
those varied heady silken hues
he pulls forth when no one looks
and passes them to her
she who glows in the sun
waiting for glass to trickle
and flow away into the unseen
where her children play
and suckle from her breast
and wriggle from her bosom
to be plucked up by his own
to find themselves swimming
at the end of a string in bitter waters
while his own wait for a bite

their marriage is made in time
and is spoken over bottles of wine
by those who spied his tricks
and have witnessed her unseen
and speak of it as though they're old friends
who live just down the road
in the house no one visits anymore




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