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The poem I wrote for her was for me - all ego -
That's how I see it now: a masquerade party,
With me posing and knowing, confident confidant.

The imagery was measured, cut
From day's marble of sun and shade;
And I spoke of her bejeaned arse like a boy

Saying things to shock his mother, cheeky,
Not downright rude. Cheeky too
The curve of breast - somehow the road

Carried my load, red motorbike's roar
My mating call to her. It is so
Predictable now, looking back.

I cut away the glissando and the Boy's Own
Symbolism, I cut out the pose and the poise;
I cut a page down to a quatrain. Will she

See me now? I'm in plain view, ego
Lightened by the light of years, a boy
Leaning on his bike outside her house.