A Short Pause Before And After
M
Mark Heathcote
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Her cleavage, a breathless butterfly
drinks from the pool of lust and love
reckless, her weight a fallen dove
'shows no desire for fear or flight.'
Little-yet or still none for these-
cessations to stop ghostly, white.
'She is my painted lady distressed
clinging and pulling at my vest'.
Windblown, feathers find little rest.
A short pause before and after
our jointly shared amber nectar
'passes for what was eternal happiness'.
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