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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Biographical · #2028190
Not my usual sort of thing.
She irons his fatigues,
laces his boots,
waves him off
and sits down,
turns the tele
to the news.
Those evil terrorists are at it again
*
Don't be sold short!
Love comes in a clear bottle.
Absolute.

"It's different now mate......
I haven't told a joke in years." 

She wears short shrots and talks
about "sexual objectification".
"I'm not that kind of girl."
She pulls me into a cab.
*
Leaning out my hotel window,
the last smoke of the day,
I seen her through her own.
An intense meeting of our eyes.
Neither smiled or moved.
We strangers, frozen in apathy.

And in plain sight,
face to me,
she drops her robe,
turns off her light.
Everything.
Then nothing.
*
It's a funny old world.
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