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75 TO THE YOUNGER LOVER When you leave me, tell me it’s the tantrums you can’t bear, tell me I’m moody, flighty, unforgiving, given to rash decisions followed by remorse, say I’m cynical, selfish, hypercritical , spend too much time at the mirror, on the phone, remind me of the times I’ve kept you waiting . . . Such a wealth to choose from, tell me anything except that it’s the line of my jaw when I lean to kiss your lips in the half-light, the quavering, prophetic sag, the line, no longer taut, that marks the limit of your tolerance. ...

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