Tres

Enamoured, we are gross

For the taking. A passerby,

A plaintive cry, a gasp and

Then a moan; we yield to each

Endeavour in the sunshine

Or the snow. Feet hammer,

Demure, a lusting for air;

To see a dull, wet moon.

The tremors punctuate

Thick clouds that pucker

Outwardly and swoon.

When the cats come out.

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