Honest Sadness

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I see her on the bus
almost every day,
We have been reading
the same book for nearly ever
repeating mile

At home I tickle her crossed
ankles, over and over
turning her pages
creating a slight breeze

Novel times, interesting,
The passage and views
passing across windows

Not sex and violence,
merely, "cheesecake and ketchup"

We recite, looking up,
at each other graceful listener
turning turns

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