Tuesday, January 06, 2004
To Jennifer Bell, years later.
Four hands on the piano
two of them sweating
two so soft you'd kill to hold them.
And the shampoo-perfume
rolling over in waves, timed
to the gently sway of her
body and the music.
An eleven year old could die before
he reaches the end of this bliss.
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two of them sweating
two so soft you'd kill to hold them.
And the shampoo-perfume
rolling over in waves, timed
to the gently sway of her
body and the music.
An eleven year old could die before
he reaches the end of this bliss.
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