For when I'm modestly dim, inebriated
she haunts with unsettled prowess
and my mind sells itself numb
giving into her silken, ginger caress.
For I have not been brave enough
to rattle in her mind this time
and she keeps within check
all of these muted, frozen rhymes.
For then a ready reckoner comes with
the bed on which she dropped the rum
and told me of how love is stitched
but the love song never hummed.
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