the black cat
made it through the winter.
she hears
my door open and scurries over
to rub
against my leg.
I sit with her for a while.
we stare
into each other's eyes.
hers a bottle green,
mine more olive.
our love has survived
the cold.
I set a bowl of milk
out for her before I leave,
she takes one or two
licks with her pink
tongue, then looks at me
before running off
to another door that opens.
it's okay, I still adore
her, despite the hussy
that she is.
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