vazambam
new old kid on the blog, with an occasional old or new poem written off the old writer's block
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Friday, December 10, 2010
Hands Down
I swear it’s no contest—
No matter how difficult
A dish my wife sets out to prepare,
In the end I find it delicious that
Each has that impalpable finishing
Touch that tastes like nothing
So much as her winning grace.
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