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two honey bees scribble
across Rupi’s milk
her tragic black paperback
blooms

on a blank kitchenette
empty plastic cup
waiting for a purpose
I tell it
“go”
but who am I to
say anything

Rupi says it all

if her grace has been missed
you should find it
gather up her past
in her shadow
and twist it
into purple origami

for me to dry
each drop
that falls because
of ways men
have touched her

Coquette

it doesn’t matter that she is blank
to you
i see her
scribbled in fine
point

so many want her
temptation
I am not alone

in this I have thought
about her since
childhood

so many have had her
some by accident
or not – no matter –
when she craves
a taste of you
she will have you

some do not want her
cold caress
stealing their breath

but others – like me
flirt with her heavy
want
zero our rifles
just enough
to taste silver
before