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by Dave Young
the unhurried friendliness.
the precision fit of limbs.
The familiarity of ritual.
Whispered moments that produce giggles
and moans.
Changing gears as she drove,
lathering her hair into an ice-cream cone,
feeding her strawberry’s from his mouth to hers
Both spellbound with hopeless abandon.
Pattern set; shaped; institutionalised.
The word relationship was the final straw.
It was on their lips so often
they sickened of it.
even in their final moment they clung to each other
for the pleasure, for the hell of it.
He wanted to handcuff them together
and throw away the key.
He would consent to a live of subjugation.
She was prepared to hack her right hand off,
or more likely his.
Pleasure –  a new poem by Dave Young – to follow and make comments on this or any other poem go to
Dave Young- Good Poetry Licks

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