dessert,
because she knows i will.
she'll
be coy about it,
oh no, she'll say, not
for me,
i'm stuffed, i'm full,
but of course when
the plate
of tiramisu comes
out,
it's her coffee spoon
reaching
from across
the table for one more
bite, maybe two,
okay,
three. blaming it all
on me,
when tomorrow
her dress is tight.
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