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Working lips
 

I could see I'd got it totally wrong

Minute I walked in the door,

She'd got her working lips on,

None of your soft yielding malarkey for me today,

Unmoistened, take it or leave it, peck and they'd gone lips.
 

I hate times like these, not knowing what I've done,

Or what to expect, but whatever it was it was big,

And likely to be good for hours, days,

Could go on for weeks, silent treatment,

Noisy pottery, banging doors.
 

Full make-up plunging neckline for the butcher,

Naked aggression for me. Hard and parched

Cold inquisitor 'Don't pretend you don't know lips',

'OK, hands up, what have I done or not done'?

'You don't know do you'?
 

Luckily, I've got a magic money-clip,

Works like a salve on working lips,

Softens 'em up a treat.
 

© Joseph G Dawson

 






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