It was nothing anyway.
Two strangers fall in love. And then forget.
Eachother.
Rouge sheets thick with sex. Burst like a blister. And we wipe away the pus.
Two strangers catch each other's names. And we keep those beds. Tuck them in like children desperate for a story.
That ends well.
It was nothing. Just strangers. In lover's clothes.
Blaming that wolf again.
Tuesday
11/28/2006 01:09:00 AM
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