I Can Keep a SecretSally Van Doren
Can you? When you were peering at my perineum did it ever occur to you that our improvisation might drape itself over our curving backs, letting loose a fibrous guillotine designed to sever the distinction between friend and lover? There, sequestered in our truant tent, you applied rouge to my hallucinations. I woke up pink and conjugal. What quantity of maelstrom need we boycott? Or do I distort the tattoo stenciled on my labia? Your initials are transposed there. There, suppressed under your stampeding loin cloth. It’s imperative we collide sooner rather than later. Later this hiccup will neutralize into last year’s down jacket, hung in the back of the closet. I fumble for it amongst the leather, cashmere and wool. Why has it puckered in the shoulders? I need to hold something up against me, whether this anthem or the cleft of your anus.
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