on the wind
your scent, expensive & designer holy,
the black mole on your forearm
wasn't there when last
i saw your sleeves rolled just so,
your knees i see are
aching still--how many steps
to go up and down in that mansion?
and yet we are as natural together
as left arm and right,
and so i
look away, avert your eyes
turn the mirror over
drive my self home in the other
direction.
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