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Ron Gavalik
Poems
Jan 2019
Agenda
Lily's hands were soft.
Her red nail polish
didn't contain even one chip.
As that dame stroked
the inside of my thigh,
the scent of an agenda
lingered on her breath.
So I started the car.
We didn't speak five words
during the ride back.
-Ron Gavalik
Written by
Ron Gavalik
Pittsburgh, PA
(Pittsburgh, PA)
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