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Month 2:22 (full moon)

At 3 am, sound distills to a feline tongue’s sirp-

lick, sirp-lick, sirp-lick across a fur-coated belly,

a honey-colored thigh, the tiny maraschinos of a paw.

by Therese L. Broderick

About ThereseLBroderick

Independent community poet living in Albany, New York USA.

One response »

  1. Never would have thought of paw pads as cherries!

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