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Thursday, January 19, 2017

Witchful, Watchful

There she sits, always across
The room from me, distant
Enough that I can’t really tell
If she’s looking at me and smiling

Or if that wily smiling fetching
flirt is someone else’s to tackle,
for the moment. I gather, only
to disperse, my thoughts and fears.

Just so, her legs aren’t impossibly
Long; hair tousled in a fashionable way.
Smidge of ennui flickers on her face
I sigh; I rise to take her hand.

A dubious idea rather dismissed
ere I destroy her charmerie.
In my mind I blow her a kiss
her eyelashes acknowledge me softly.

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