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Sugar in my Pocket
A jacket not worn since summer,
My hand slips into the pocket.
Zucchero!
There is a violin,
cathedral bells,
nuns flicker past
across warm stone.
A man selling watches runs.
The statue moves, sending
flour blown kisses
to his retreating back.
I sip my coffee,
and smile at you.
Zucchero!
Morag Gornall
16.07.09
