Short Poem No.33

Sitting on the heirloom green couch with pearl
handles inlaid with round oak pegs, she reads to him
the adventures of the girl from the loch she calls by name

The Kiss was pinned on the wall, curling at the edges,
his arms intending to strangle.
If he had lived, we should have thought of him and his family

Shot glass from Boston – empty bottle of Bourbon

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