Her frown made me sad--
kind of like tired, pliable carrots
do. Whereas her perfume
delighted like a flower concert
played by multicolored clouds.
When she talked, I heard
her words as vocal chords
thrummed into the present
moment. And when she
smiled at me--at me!--
well, I wanted to applaud
in a way that voiced
desire for an encore,
for me an encore.
hans ostrom 2020
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