Magdalene (18)

This ragged foolishness, George,
To what end?
I’m thinking tonight
Of being unfaithful,
As I flirt with the dull night
To end the silence of familiarity:
A refrigerator light,
The morning newspaper,
The smell of toast,
The bent metal ribbing
Of my favorite umbrella,
Your veined hand
Between my unwilling thighs.



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