Tossup
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she stood up ...
reached across the table to
pinch his cheek -
two small red spots grew where
she had crimped his
dark-whiskered flesh ...
"Now they match ... scoundrel!"
for there flamed two more crimson
marks on the opposite side
where the other had pressed her
pretty plum bows just
a moment before ...
they both walked slowly away from him
in different directions
swaying like serpents 'for a flute
every eye affixed to their
coy affectations
and the suggested treasures that
moved beneath the pleated finery, draping ...
he quickly finished the
cold, green shot of absinthe
in his hand, and considered the question
that now faced him ...
which desirous, compelling, wholly
dangerous creature would
he follow?
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2021
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