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

Tyson West

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I hardly recall any soul I served thirty-five years ago
but, Cynthia, your shoulders and dogma - I never forgot.
Of course I d minor double grieved your fresh tombstone
as I dogwalked by then
pierced your obit to wring my regret that you never remarried
but your bobbed brown bangs greyed into a slim well shriven church lady
convinced enough of your predestination to have inscribed Romans 8:28 on your stone.
Your neurosis once worried for the arms of a Pagan knight
but I never asked you to break bread and sip wine
nor did you ask me to ask.
You massaged, sternly I am sure, metal inventory for your Christian father who
never valued the edge I saw that only need have been set
by the stroke of a steel.
Our predestiny? – perhaps your principles sensed my principles' depth as well,
I would have lied about anything to bind us on earth
save my devotion to the Goddess.