'The Ring that Didn't Mean a Thing'
By christy
(for the sister who is much wiser now) Morning sifts over the room, blinding raylets void of warmth infect a vacant bed, where only hours ago he lay bare and breathless, candleflame conjuring shadows to feast on flesh. Sheets stained with nocturnal madness eagerly greet the rinse cycle, the flavor of sex still coating his tongue as he rehearses a useless greeting for the clever wife who took an earlier flight. Written January 3rd, 2002 © on Jan 03 2002 02:27 AM PST 0 • 10
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"(for the sister who is much wiser now)..."