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POEM: Might


There is a might in bed
who wraps her fuzzy legs about my head.
She broods
as I snatch a victual or two,
her burnished eyes calculating the view.

I buzz back
and discern the sky.
Beneath blanket ligatures
my left arm is free, feet tangled in the lace;
I am oozing pudding on a hairy belly,
an opaque sheet over my face.


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