Like a well-bred debutante
with a chicken wing,
she gnawed me
interestedly.
While I
for my part
imbibed her whole,
in face and form
like a hidden spring.
Yet later we compared notes
and themes, from that symphony
momentously met. She said
I was the one
with chicken-eyes.
And she'd been the one
drinking in my sweat.
I was going to protest
"that's gross" but her laugh
like bells tolled the tale,
she was kidding me there.
She can kid all she likes!
But her eyes still gnaw
me to bone,
and her spring?
One sip
still strips me bare.
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