My Magic Newlywed Neighbors
I still have not spoken to them. I try, but they’re gone before my wave. A magician’s act of flowers and mirrors. The wife appears out one upstairs window, laughing, disappears, an invisible bird singing, then flows out another, dreaming her hair down. One day, a pink pillow case flaps its lewd humorous tongue at me, and at night strange notes leap from their chimney to the moon. In the morning, the husband exits in a rush, one shoe half off, then returns, bags overflowing with wine bottles and celery. I keep waiting for him to race out a trap door, his wife...
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