Poem for a Girl Number 1 by Ian Smith


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Every time
I pass by
the honeysuckle bush
that grows on the corner
of the street, I
lean in and drink
of her.
She is
so much
like you. I
let her
tendrils
wrap
around
my neck, turn
my head, direct
me
to drink


like in the curve of your neck's
myrtle-white sinews, the earth's
scent, the lovely
stink of sweat.