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Updated on Monday and Thursday.
"If you think with your emotions, slight glandular changes are sufficient to revise your entire outlook."

— Brian Aldiss

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Thursday, March 23rd, 2006

I wanted this to be a sonnet, but I couldn't make it fit the rhyme scheme. I may try again if I can do so without procrustrating it.

Not to keep anyone in suspense, she eventually did say it back.

Dearheart. As the orange cat brushed by
I bent and seized his chest and lifted,
Hugged him and inverted him, to lie
In my crooked arm, one hand on his belly,
One on his back, and he warmed me so that
The words came of their own accord.
For I knew he'd still submit to being stroked
For food; no renegotiations, no reply.

You and I lay close and talked that night,
Cat squint-eyed on the corner of the bed.
Dearheart, I didn't know what there was
In me to give you, but I was shamed
And so I said it still. And with all that,
You were just as silent as the cat.

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