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Two identical doves squat
in the pine, plump squabs.

One feeds a morsel to the other,
foreplay before fluttery mount.

Then they regain composure.
Smooth their silken vestments.

Nightfall they roost side by side.
In dawn glow they doze.

Within pale fluff one of them
holds a tiny cup of yolk.

Like once I was held.
And now you.