(I've put this one up at the request of a boy I met at the Scribe magazine launch this very night. It gestated on my phone's notepad for a while, before surfacing in front of the mic.)
That woman smells
of strawberry liquorice.
I wonder if she has strands of it
tucked up in her neat hair,
covertly tugging out one at a time
for a tasty treat in a boring meeting.
Both a lovely poem and a CRACKING IDEA. Damn this short hair; I may have to limit myself to sherbert and Foamy Shrimp.
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