what it is about, the woman alone
"she'll like it" they say, like they know
and they do, now, they do, with age.
She was her house, the gut of it,
falling down a velvet gullet, away,
from him, from them, and in, alone
at last, inside, not masticated, no, nor sad.
"Does she like it?" she says, again, each time, a friend
of friends is left alone. "Oh yes," they say, "she does"
She does, all women, maybe, do.
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