stupid lust from nowhere

baskets of kittens
and puppies stretching
  into the corners, wry at times
like twinkling tickling, such an
ya'll, that I'd aspire to
join, but know "better"

a life resigned to the division 
yellow filter fantasy, or life
  grown cold, flat
remote, grubby from so much lazy handling

And those are shamrocks, no, bows...

next to my staring
eyes that close at
release     of the doves and rainbows

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