last night:
he held two babies at his knees, aching
from bending over too much
while plucking sweetnesses
for alabaster mouths
he face was burned, manipulated
by the sun, haggard, his jowls
sinking lowly, his moist lips laced
with his firm grey mustache
his hair is concrete, wet with oils
that pour from my skin, he gave them
to me so that God could
anoint me
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