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Vichyssoise, then murder (Free verse) by horus8

You are an eager travel agent away from meeting your maker. One phone call closer, unaware, it's your game show eyes that will let me get up and over you. Inches from your face, you can smell the salt from my lips & pores. We both will 'be', for hours, days. The love & work of an honest man's will. You'll keep well refrigerated, yet awakening too. If I can keep my temper down and your tolerance high. The mess will be worth cleaning up. I will serve yours' cold & repeated.

horus8 30-Jul-03/7:19 PM
Perhaps, it's about your inability to comprehend what you fear. E-mail yourself cripple, spare me the trouble because, this poem is about pure fucking murder, and I have no time for silly games.




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