The Tuxedo Archives
Abstract
I see her blood relation to death, in the wrinkles of her forehead,
Yet, I want her.
Her heavy breath, lingers out, over her damp lips
And E
C
H
O
E
S
A soft invitation, through my mind.
She slowly pulls me, closer to her smooth, magazine face
With her hypnotic, inhaled breath, full of mystery. ~excerpt from poem
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