a hint of red worn
was no flag against the bits of plum
i had to kiss
gingerbread with blonde frosting
her hair was beneath my fingers
that i borrowed from my five year old self,
that sensed she would play
but not too rough
and as a favor to me
she left enough caramel
at the intersection of these bits of plum;
it was better there
than within the pricey macchiato.
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