Non-Erotic PoetrySamovarTea with my aunt
the scent of musty lavender
and remembrances of a dashing Cossack.
She sees my smile
distorted in reflection
from the polished samovar
floating splendid
on a hard sea of mahogany.
"Your grin is out of place.
You find it hard to imagine
me a lusty widow.
There was a time young man,
I might have played you like a cello."
::
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