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Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

for the weary traveler

it may have been pennsylvania
perhaps mid-ohio
south florida
or some other illinois

the years just as unclear
and irrelevant

we had managed to crash into each other
on an irregular basis

clandestine hotel room junkies
requiring no other drug
but the temporary fix of each other

each time
i’m still sixteen
and he has the biggest cock on earth

i never want to cuddle or chit-chat after

he says hey baby stop

you’re makin’ me feel like half a woman here

he’s so italian

because it’s me who always leaves first

with him still in bed

his gun lying on the table beside
a gold st. christopher medallion

2 replies on “for the weary traveler”

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