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Tarragon (Free verse) by D. $ Fontera

Her voice weaves sweet, thick spices into me. She chassés and her hips send thoughts of romance and what whispers do. We eat quickly to match our flickering glances. A faint, burning aroma clouds our minds to that which matters most.

INTRANSIT 26-Aug-05/6:56 AM
Mortar and pestle perhaps? I agree chasses has to go. But are we eating cooking or dancing here, um, perhaps it's (eat) that needs to go? Damn close though. Brings me back to Instructions to a sculptor by Christof.




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