I walked with my turquoise stone
in the tiny pocket of my purse
for good luck, the witch said.
I sat at that cafe and you never showed up
I thought perhaps it was the needy poem
of fluff I left in your backpack
when you were looking at that other girl
with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
He will wait for you, the palm reader said.
It was a cafe where they played old movies
you said, Scarface is playing,
and recited the lines like poetry.
I am impressed with the oddest sentences
the ones most hate, the ones they can never
grasp with a one time read.
I wrote this for you, he said, but don’t read
it in front of me. I sat on my bed and unfolded it
gently, slowly, prolonging the anticipation
like a perfect orgasm.
I read it about ten…
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