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Check Please
He was achingly pretty.
Worthy of a Richter rating.
And only a little dull.
Forgiveable, surely?
Concerned over the
suitability of the striped shirt,
he appealled for
external assistance.
You could, I declared,
make a hessian sack
seem destined for Milan.
(No one’s looking at the packaging,
was what I wanted to say -
the striped shirt already crumpled
on the floor near the kitchen bench
later that night thanks to my
overactive imagination).
Dinner dragged.
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