it’s just a scent,
an essence, but
it fills her with
desire most
prosaic
ancient accidents
and analytic splendor
on the table.
does she think of him?
she does, but
it is nothing like
he wants
precursors
to a dance,
in hazelnut
and vague mismatched
capitulations.
he tells her that
it's all a dream;
she tells him all
her secrets
and everyone who watches
sees the game
it's just a scent,
an essence, but
the coffee has
intention
their difference
is what makes them
the same
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Tagged: Tags Enigmata Hints Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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