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Slender, sleekest, neatest,
what a treat it is:
to meet each year
to plot our war on diabetes.

Modest, understanding nurse
no teasing slopes on show today:
your hair is up and beautiful.
Angel, pull my tourniquet.

You're taller than my memory.
We chatter: things I might avoid.
Bend to stab me: “Ouch my dear!”
Our very closeness leaves me buoyed.

More confident than once you were
we talk of exercise and stroke,
yes, of course, my eyes caress you
bluest angel -- I'm a bloke.

How I love your strict routine,
discomfort as that question wheedles--
no, I haven't lost that function.
Careful, darling, with your needles.