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Click herethat becomes her age and face,
softens the veined inroads of gray, makes
her younger, makes me
remember I how once wanted her
spread like a clean tablecloth
off which my tongue would pluck breadcrumbs.
Enjoyed your poem. Especially the last line as it raises so many fascinating questions in its imagery.
Crumbs were your sustenance? By choice? Was it enough?
To explore the entire spread with your tongue...
and, of course, well writ. I like, too, when a poem blends the title in so seamlessly. Nice to see you poeming T-Zed. :-)
Sweet. Bittersweet. What every woman - and every hairdresser - aspires for in a new haircut. This is why one must always tip a good hairdresser very well.
'spread like a clean tablecloth' was a risk, but it works.
i can hardly wait to see what tazz has to say, screw 'em
A REPAST FROM THE PAST
what's with the new minimalism
cat got your tongue?
or did you actually read the other thing about taking people off the page?
1.B4