B: VII: The Glove
In the beginning was the love.
It oozed itself around him,
Gradually became his glove.
Warmth became addictive.
Love left for easier hands.
The glove stayed on for summer-
The sweat! that he got into
For fear a misplaced glove would mean
A cold and loveless winter.
poem by Douglas Scotney
Added by Poetry Lover
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