Bears & Mist

*This is a draft of poetry, because sometimes my thoughts are in a scramble
On most days, he is Pooh bear with a
Tummy of honey; a bearded
Face that knocks down walls
By chance—she never means to tell
‘Til she does, and he is a mirror
She breathes on until it fogs up.
In that mist, he draws his Other Woman,
who stands a foot below
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