Lunch at l’auberge
Cynthia Holz
July 2013
He arrives in murmuring blue tie puffed like a poised rattler He has brought a ruby flower scent of languorous hours "Have you never been to France?" His face is sluggish but his fingers fly He finds a dear spot behind her ear "Tell me. Tell me." Her eyes are ruby wine and his his eyes his eyes are the ports of Le Havre
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