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Jenny Gordon Jul 2017
Funny...less that two weeks later how foreign this is.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXII)


Lo, ****** white tinged purple, for a sense
Of sorrows' keenest wailing, and so frail
To boot, lies now in state, as drying t'avail
The first petunia Joe gave me, what hence?
I wonder what the weekend shall from thence
Be, eh?  He's sposed to call.  Nor in betrayl
Does he know I'm a ******?  That detail
Waits chance to take its bow in sheer defense.
This white tank, pink-bowed floral skirt as twere
Ah, party clothes last summer when we'd brew
Espressos over beef, with wine to do
Our seance good in mid-July, was't poor
For groc'ry shopping?  I forgot.  His pure
Choice in a flowr--I can't help loving too.

30Jun17a
*takes a low bow* I guess it/we only lasted two months.  Whatever.

— The End —