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That photo:
the two of us,
you holding me aloft
in a dangle of triumph.
In those days we
were round and hopeful,
joy thread tautly
on our spirit-level gaze.
‘Respect for you – that
I did not expect,
looking up
into those spry pupils;
a face so sharply
distinct from my own’.
Later on the scales would tilt,
splashing endless excessive
effusions of water
all over your brain.
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