BARE BONES SHALL BURGEON SOON Before I had a house, I made a broom and swept clear ground to draw a mate. I laid my broom and my lover stepped over it: his kiss went in without a wimble! Hunger was dropping from his nose, he built our house . . . Then came my fears: that mice-footprints should pit the dust, hopping toads and crawling snakes: that bread should moulder, milk go dry and cobwebs blowse among the rafters: my broom wear out: and forlorn ghosts wander for love from room to room: that a man with a shovel should stand by the door and a woman with a bag should sit on the roof! For how lovely, to the fleshless, bare bones are! . . . But to sweet lovers there is only Spring.
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