Boy.
He buys pantyhose at 1/2 price because they look so unnatural. His hands are smooth as silk, his lips crimson perfection. Tell the truth; is he prettier than me? Oh little black dove, I see the way you strut after dark. I see the way you blow kisses to random men. I see you paint your face night after night, as if waiting for some big masquerade. Lonely streets on ebony nights; Boy walks with tattered memories. Old men whisper while shuffling by, "All the queers are out tonight." They don't hide that they think Boy looks a bit too much like Girl.Does this need more? Written March 29th, 2002 © on Mar 29 2002 10:43 AM PST, Katrina Armour 0 • 10
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"He buys pantyhose at..."