You can count on it,
one, two, three,
the pulse between my legs
beating in a way that I'll never tell him about
or feel for him.
I still wonder what you said to her;
are you okay?
does this feel good?
don't tell anyone.
or were you too drunk to talk?
I hope you weren't.
I hope you remember her beer breath
and the color of the panties her mother bought her
Comments
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painfull
but as emotive and indeed moving as ever.


