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red

begonia
the color of Revlon 09
last year’s kiss
almost gone
brushed to the suede
green gloves of remiss
ached
where steps ran
flush with the porch
not long
til all we have left
of the winter
is a place where he stood
in the snow
peering through windows
while inside
we glowed
fat with the memory
of blossom
to come

. . .