Your grin belies
what’s to come
Your eyes are truer
But there are other clues
The open magazine
Bikinied airbrushed
impossible bodies
flashing deriding smiles
The almost drunk
cracked
glass of last week’s red
we’d meant to throw out
My preemptive
I love you Beautiful
flops humiliatingly
somewhere between us
Like a failed acrobat
on echoless hard wood
I want to run
both to you and away
I’m home
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