Tuesday, July 1, 2008

She can't tell you the color of his eyes. Perhaps brown blue, but there they are. And a sniff on the neck. It's there, and resistance and hesitation and lust through moans and grabs and pulling her hair. The teeth don't hit once, all lips and smells in the light struggling with jean bottoms and buttons. Whatever they are, the Man is beautiful in passion on the floor and sleep it gone from your memory.

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