A Southern Girl’s, Uncoiling
Whenever I mention you,
the doctor always asks
what do I see,
now that you’re gone,
when I think of you.
I say I see thighs,
tanned and gleaming,
kissed by the proper
Bonwit skirt, rising
through the terminal
toward me and above
your thighs
that smile,
a Southern girl’s,
uncoiling.
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