Morsel

 

 

Give me a straight back chair

tall enough that my ankles rest

under my knees.  Say you will sit

across the table from me every morning

and there drink my humors 

and smile, and reach to touch

my coffee-cupped hands, the sweet 

and the sullen, alike, dropping from 

finger tips, yours and mine.  Say 

This part will never change.

 

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