Looking forward

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I want to go to the wall
The wall with your picture on it

Torn down once and re-painted

I want to wreck it harder, and better

And find you, at last, on the other side

A little paunchy and very pale, hair retreated to your ears,

The sheepish look that expert beauties get, when they don’t

Have a right profile anymore

I want to bury my own old face in your belly and tell you what you

Look like, truly

I want His ear so we can push away
trifling impossibilities and go

Drive, drive in a beautiful shark-fin
car with beautiful you,

In a poppy-print shirt and black peg legs,

The rotten teeth wished back too

Nothing to ask you only talk and fight and split and make up

This is not possible:
I’m afraid I find that unacceptable.

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