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Poem: How 

How do they do it,
when we’ve run to fat
or bones begin to show,
when muscles
have gone slack.
Such ease
to love the babe,
the girl, the boy,
for what we dream
they might become
or even when
the sex begins to show,
to burn, to glow.
Past that, it all begins to go.
Going, going
What does remain,
the love,
that tiny flame.

Speaking of...

  • A poem by Cliff Henderson.


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