cinched

in my cotton jersey tunic tied at the waist

all my insides are drawstrung tight

primed to profess and pour out at the sight of you

liquid longing to souse my blouse with 

sweat and tears and want and fears

wetting my everything and marking the stain

for all to see like the scarlet letter of

loneliness and leftovers that no one wants a box for

perfectly packaged tied up with a string

and forgotten on the table for two 

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