With Option to Buy

Eyes that scream "Come hither"
freckles on bare calves
wine that isn't needed
like footnotes of our pasts

Fires in the iron
guns checked at the door
strands of different colors
on a class act and his floors

Out of season oysters
symmetry be damned
threadbare torn to ribbons
beneath two clove-hitched hands

Captives bound by plaster
a Monday sweeping dust
forever seems a short time
to fireworks like us.

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