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reaching the end of a poem

might feel like the imprint
soon to be left by a beautiful woman
on your lap

(allowing to show a bit
of what clothes attempt to hide)

it might feel like the tension between
her walking away
and you holding tight

or pondering whether you just heard
a goshawk seeking a mate
or dinner

even, perhaps, the feeling that remains
when returning home
you find out that someone came and left

and you weren't there.

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