Zanzibar Hyperbole!

It’s a Zanzibar Hyperbole!

she exclaimed
through a mouthful of guacamole and chips.

I didn’t understand, nor did I ask.

She pointed toward the restroom,

where Marilyn smiled with impossible confidence,

eternally turning,

as if beauty could pause the world mid-sentence.

The mirror caught her twice—

realer in reflection than in art,

with soap and hygiene notices

framing glamour like a government-issued dream.

Heated by the

radiance of her face

brimming with mischief and enchantment,
I could not love her more.

Rockland, Maine

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