Gently, carefully she strokes
his big brown and white kind face,
letting her hand trace
the outline of nose and mouth.
Scratching between his ears
she has no reason to fear
for she cannot truly be near
enough to feel his rough whorls of hair.
She cannot smell the sweet scent of grass
that as he exhales, swims on a breeze
which does not brush,
her translucent pearly white skin.
It's hard and smooth the rounded glass,
under her touch and not hide she feels,
from the closet of her city living room
as the cow turns to her and says moo.
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