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Dec 09, 2007
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ESTRANGERS
ESTRANGERS
Why do we
never now commiserate with comedies,
forgive and fete our foolishness,
lace our clumsy-calls
with love?
Why do we
never now absently lay a languid hand
along a liquid inner thigh:
a below the table-top token
of post-prandial promise?
Why do we
never now play This Little Piggy
with gentle teeth and gentler tongue
on the lingering long
erotic route home?
Why do we
now allow a careless chasm
to creep twixt curled hands
when walking [not quite]
side by side?
Why do we
do what inconsequential things we do
when together is a mere
coincidence of place?
Why do we,
despite these lonely loveless things,
never think
"Why ‘we’?"
Why do we
never now commiserate with comedies,
forgive and fete our foolishness,
lace our clumsy-calls
with love?
Why do we
never now absently lay a languid hand
along a liquid inner thigh:
a below the table-top token
of post-prandial promise?
Why do we
never now play This Little Piggy
with gentle teeth and gentler tongue
on the lingering long
erotic route home?
Why do we
now allow a careless chasm
to creep twixt curled hands
when walking [not quite]
side by side?
Why do we
do what inconsequential things we do
when together is a mere
coincidence of place?
Why do we,
despite these lonely loveless things,
never think
"Why ‘we’?"
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