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Voluptuous under flannel. Daggers,
stones and diesels; filling all that you wear

with joy. On the prowl. On the side. Lovers
of love, this is the truth about that dare:

dick-slap our faces. You, Keiko and Drew
crouched on the floor, upturn grins all aglow.

Vodka, ganja, Truth or Dare left Day Two
of our acey-deucey, bifocal blow

out a blur. Blouses on the bed. Born of?
Born for? None of that matters. The soul gleams

beloved. Kiddywinks and saints of Stonewall
nurture us: love is love is love is love

even when standing above you. With jeans
loose I blushed then let fall for one and all.