Self serviced

I got in touch with myself last night.
I had delicious thoughts of you with
crimson lips and those 5 inch heels
that would gouge the wall beside the bed.
Soon after, I realized that our seemingly
emotional commune had been nothing more than
a blanket of make shift tee-pees freckled across
a truly massive plain of convenience and self gratification.
That being the case, I closed my eyes and
bit down on a thick strand of your

hair softer than anyone ever will.


Ray Strickland jr. Sept.1994

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