Magdalene (21)

I married you, my lovely,
Because I knew
You would be lured
By those who would
Camp unabashed
On the edges
Of your calm
Pretense of responsibility.

You would have your furtive bees
Circling another limpid flower,
These wily squatters
Claiming spaces
Foreclosed, too often,
By the cautious
Flashes of your tedium.



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