on writing chapter five
11.27.2015
What Do You Mean, You Don't Dance the Tango?
She keeps the gin I love on hand
in case we both get lonely;
never lets me make my own--
though not 'cause she's scared
of my heavy hand.
Sometimes I use
her lovely mane as reins.
Sometimes I drool
cruel words
to spare the innocent.
You only live once
and only with yourself.
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