By Lyn Lifshin

not the blue
of lace bikinis,
but a blue
soaked with
rose skin. I came
to your radio
program in pink
leather, rose
lotion. Over the
my own pink
glistened, a
finger nail moon,
your favorite.
Even if you'd
had both legs and
we could have,
it would have
been a grief-dance.
Now I wonder
with each new
lover was there a
routine to you
taking off
your leg. Did
you tell everyone
how you'd
be closer?

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