Hollow

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HOLLOW


Her tea-cup fingers barely fit 

around the rounded part


of a play-set kitchen pear. 

She lifts it into the air. 


Having made me dinner,

who would ever dare


to pare it down and peer 

beneath the plastic peel?


Love converts the wishful

to the real. Delicious. It’s all 


there is to say. And when 

I pray, might that be then


received itself as the belief

instead of what's beneath?


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