shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Betty Bonham Lies

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Outta Here

The slither of your dry palm over mine
makes secret rustles like a snake

passing through last year's leaves—
I don't know where it came from,

where it's going. I startle easily:
a love sign, snake, or finding,

out among my roses, casual gift:
a whole and perfect skin, dying to show

its mysteries to the finder, wild design,
even the eyes were covered by a shuff of skin.

Between our fingers, spaces like the cool holes
in a wall of rocks, and something hiding there.