The Women

by fyarlgiles

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The women

are made of

heaven’s ruby lips

and honey-colored stares–

——–They are

those

chills

that prickle covered arms

 in the brisk night air-

and

——— those

mysterious

flirtations

that  warm dead fingers

with the electricity

of

promise.

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but deep

in the bones of their pretty feet

—–deep

in the pits

of their brown bellies

is a passion sickened

and pale.

-Too old and beaten

to come

to life

for me.

-Angie Hoover -Hillhouse

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