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Ode: Husband Compliments
She is a self-driving car.
As far as the farthest object, my eyes
cannot believe
she is
Captain of a spaceship
that she built
from spent foil paper rolls.
The aluminium was self-made.
Books are like comrades,
but actual pillows and blankets.
She is a rank bibliophile.
Her practice is rubbing off.
I feel their spines more than hers.
Our bed is tiny.
She will quetch
at the ''tiny bed'' insinuation.
I borrowed "quetch" from her library
of words.
She imparts. I swear by oaths
English is a xenophile.
I twitch like a wolfish dog
clinging to the sweetest bone
while drowning in a stream
to hear her hymns of wisdom
and her palatial heart
of trespassing passionfruit
and runaway strawberries, is
water-resistant
Copyright ©
Trina Layne
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