Snooping

The email told all there was to know.
The email said all there was to say.
The past wafted like smoke under the door,
heat at the doorhandle. The past coalesced
like a genie, turban and bared midriff,
feet coiling into mist. The skin of the past
shimmered with cocoa butter. The past's
tinkling laughter morphed into thunder, distant
but threatening to advance, undulating
under bruised clouds.

The email said all there was to say:
To genie with love.


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