Or did the hoax home in
on the scent of your sugar shack,
pheromones unsettled by
being alone, no wife, one-on-one
with the scent of another woman?
(Pretty Woman, too, you're thinking. Good
thing there's a plexiglass parenthesis there.)
Her damascara-ed, you unmask-ed, and anonymously
some fly with tongues for feet
hoaxing in the honey of your head.
.
Who knows? But they do say
those pregnant flies hatch batched eggs
--100s of them out of wedlock --
on decaying matter, such as freedom,
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