Aging silver fox,
still boxing for glory,
still smiling in your sleep –
the blue eyes of a boy,
scheming.
She pulls the sheet over her head,
a shroud against your
gentle snoring.
A world of hurt,
sheathed in flannel,
tickling then impaling.
False teeth like a funhouse mirror,
a Swarovski swan,
a diamond bracelet.
Like a beer bottle, thrown out
the window, those
glittering pieces
all along the Turnpike.
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