Formal Poetry and other idiosyncrasies
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  • CHRISTMAS
ENHANCEMENT

She forms in his real eyes as he downloads
the icon of her smile, her taut, white skin,
it's slow, it always is, it discommodes

his system when he meets her face to face.
There's something not quite right - so he begins
to mouse-click on his clip-art database.

Some small adjustments, tweakings, to her lips,
nose, hairline, shoulder-angle ... underpin
her breasts with Sellotaping finger-tips.

The arrow grows, surrenders to desire,
he's finished touching her: she's raked, cool, thin,
his hands will never move beyond the wire:

she's screened the way she wanted it to be,
when she first glossed her brows with glycerine
and starved a little more each day.  She's free

to satin-out, to lie in air-tight rooms,
licensed to stroke the clean sheet, imagine
that he is coming -- not yet -- but too soon.



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