ex's valise at airport
fiction
edward w Pritchard
Time was the valise would hold a present for me,
a book or a painting of a medieval castle on the Rhine;
involved in collecting tolls, Gothic in style,
but renovated in the nineteenth century to attract English tourists.
Hell, time was with kissing and hanging on the tofu rice for you would get cold
and my present would be forgotten until tomorrow morning.
Before now with perfunctory greeting; time was satisfying.
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