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Saturday, April 4, 2009


He is sleeping in a strange bed

For the right person. He sees her dead

Asleep, jaded and farded face

Odour of jojoba; ballooned bosom beneath the lace


He is fond of these girls

A feeling that nocturnally unfurls.

She is an admirable woman

Unable to stick on to a single man


She turns around like baby to milk-familiar comforting mother;

He was her former hubby, she shirks, collects her dignity and coils into a corner;


Culmination of all characterless emotion;

Adjustment , and not abandonment , is a humane function;

Inebriation clouds his faculties

He lusts forward unmindful of affinities.

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