Sherri Bedingfield
Evening Evening is here and you come in my back door again, as you’ve done many times before, parka over apple green turtleneck you got from me for Christmas. Your neck skimmed with scent. Before you, I never noticed scent. Evening is here, it is mid-winter. But you bring the sultry air of summer and stand big and square on my kitchen floor. The last tail of day light slides back to the sky for its night rest, yes, evening is here. You and your pale eyes wink at me with crackling red love.
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