The Chasm
I knew I’d offended you, your smile
of hurt, the one reserved for whipped
spaniels; you use it too.
We didn’t speak as we strolled through
the woodland park , picking up acorns,
dropped by passing tree top squirrels
And when my hand brushed yours, you
pulled away, like a nervous electric eel,
stranded in the rainless mud
I knew I’d offended you.
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