she waits for me
as I do my washing
porridge on the stove
while she waits
she edits my furniture
for her tidy house
when we get together
we will have more
grandchildren
this time is so different
from the first marriage
the second the third
it is our 'last true love'
we say, gazing at each other
like herons at a river
I bring my porridge
to the table
and think in its steam
too much cinnamon
and not enough
metaphor
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