My gift of a silver bangle to you
should balance love’s ledger, that is,
by way of legerdemain, purchasing
a part of the tenure, which ten months
will trick for you your freedom.
O, do not let that Janus-faced owner
of yours – he is neither father nor lover
and everyone knows his legal claim
is specious as his bragging prowess –
lay one shit-smutched finger
on any part of you, your purse foremost,
and least of all the hinges, so fragrant,
smelling of freshly picked lavender.
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