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Pipe smoke
spelling tales of hunts
for honey-toasted cashews
without added salt
with a side of animosity
reflective sunglasses
wide-brimmed lowered hat
when I walk in the front door
my partner walks out.

Hunt for smoked pipes
cracked cashews
swallowed with sleeping pills
in hopes to spill honey
out of my gaping mouth, nostrils and
glaring eyes when someone spots
the lies growing out of my chin
no one dare open a window to release
my hazy protection, for I may see clearly
the bees forbid I know
the error of my ways

let this dumb dog lie.

1 comment add one below

  • avatar

    VerityAlways over 1 year ago

    Like the alliteration, imagery

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