AH, WHAT is our love
if not an ever-evolving
thing? I’m sorry, I meant
ever-revolving thing
and meant “what is your
cylinder but an—?”
Depending on how
you spin its carefully
cleaned and oiled
chambers; SO LET US
not talk softly of love
or of your Dixie Derringer
or even of the silk pillow
under which I know
you’ve tucked it—you,
with all your amour fou,
as though that act
still works with me.
• • •
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