Coffee Killer Bot


He wishes now –

Like dishes of silver platter,

Like spoons of silver disposition –

That the plaited girl of ten

He’d loved way back then,

When love had been pure, not

Cruelly mature,

Had grown up by his side,

Until seek and hide

And ride and rise

Became an adult thing

They’d do together.



Ever true,

Even if only for a year of juvenility:

They had been to each other

And kind and gentle too.

The rue of sad bewildering

As bewitchment resigned

And tied in its idiocy

The secrecy of parental judgement:

The punish and crime of a

Wilder and so grandiloquent





Quite a thing!



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