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Click hereWrites it down in her little book
with pencil stub or pen
awake in bed, or mountain top
the who, the what, the when,
Stickler for detail
just the right word
someone her own drummer
not part of some hip herd,
She and I sometimes together
that mountain top, or bed
where I muse and wonder
what’s going in her head,
Now and then she’ll read
what it is she writes
accounts of indiscretions
frequently on stormy nights,
With friends I know, or strangers
or at times with me
she writes in the third person
like someone there to see,
What it is that’s going on
the reporter in the corner
not a friendly crossing guard
who came there to warn her,
Yesterday, in bed, reclined
after sex and wine
she seemed introspective
but otherwise seemed fine,
On the bedside table
her little book of lore
after writing something down she said
of both, she’d like some more ..