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poetry
Speech Lesson
by Raymond John de A. Borja
Often, he'll switch f's and p's.
At dinner, he'll ask you to hand him a pork,
and tell you how succulent
the grilled fork tastes.
Often, he'll trade b's for v's.
He'll drop by on afternoons
with a vasket of strawverries
(your paborite pruit).
Sometimes, he'll even turn s's to z's.
But this one, particularly this one,
he thinks, sounds pretty cool -
feel the surge of macho, self-assurance
every time he says: i miz u hun.
But when the time came, he asked
if he could know your friends,
you just couldn't imagine
how they can be his priends too.
On the evening he changed u's to o's,
you bore witness
to the slow
drain
of magic
from a romantic
foll moon.
When he called the next morning
to say: absence makes the heart grow ponder.
You knew, you had to hang up the phone.
When he invited you for a sip of ka-ber-net,
you told him: CA-ber-NEY,
then left him to drink alone.
When he asked why you suddenly lept,
you realized: you had to leave him for good.
But on nights,
singly snug in bed,
you wake to dreams of his touch
and long for his husky moans.
You wonder, then learn from his string of words:
Absence can make the heart grow, ponder.
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