Hotel Obedience
By craig2
Elevator ride, fingers in fist, rehearsing touch in the room – evening in April, no one writing our song, naked, all the lights on. The demon holding me is crafty and old, hear it breathing in strobes, moving about, plaiting the ropes binding wrists in scorn. Waking in sweat my hands and you gone, taken carefully home in red velvet bags to spells and scrapbooks, testaments to your porn. Written December 17th, 2001 © on Feb 05 2002 01:05 PM PST 0 • 8
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"Elevator ride,..."