tea and lace

there is nothing



nothing really, but

the wolfish grin of desire

that will spin in your direction



of course that may be nothing



i fantasize about a pot of chamomile

and a camisole rolled up

in a ball on the floor like

a lint balloon on a sweater

that has deflated around the room



and landed on the right spot

at the right time



i believe both will be with you



i will remember to bring

my own wolfish grin

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