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Not My Type

Women who put men in a velvet box
Like a piece of heirloom jewellery
Or a cadaver that can't get up to tricks,

And those who'd rather be pixies
With candles, glass beads & wishing wells,
Women who are afraid of themselves,

Women with sparkling hair, metal eyes
And enamel claws are worth a second
But not a third, or fourth glance,

And those who love their cat or horse
More than anyone, or love a poem
And mark it with a leaf in a book's pages -

Unless it's mine of course - are not
My type. But some have no interest in what
My type might be, it might just be them.

 Poems
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