The Piecemeal Man (abmann) wrote,
The Piecemeal Man

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I never appreciated
a creole lilt
until I heard you speak.
It is slow and luxurious
like your hands as the work me over
after our first night of poker.
Aces digging into my abdomen -
you were cheating
but I cannot stay mad when,
with a telescopic staff,
you subdue me. Speaking
is amiss when your words are empty
I only sense your agile tongue.
We danced like turning pages
for hours amidst bright colors
and spectacular escapades.
The kinetics between us
are only so remarkable
against your calculating mouth.
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