(since I’ll call you by your Christian name),
Oh dear.
Your teeth underwent a transformation.

The grass left its signature on your
jeans and white tees
and I thought I heard the sun?
blazing in your
(some say “gold” but I like “amber”)

be holdin'

And your eyes,
the ones in your face,
they’re becoming sapphires
while we browse through files together,
(at your desk)
Oh dear.
I don’t know what to do about that.

and to end where I began—
your teeth,
they’re the shade I once saw
sported on a little white egg timer,
which, being always kept near the kettle,
had gotten just the tiniest bit
Dear Sarah.


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