She was a gun runner, stun gunner, rum runner, young lover left outside with no blanket to cover up her shaking scraping knees her left pocket filled with my keys, pressed hard against her tender thighs next to a bag of pure delight. But I don’t know the half which starts with why I cannot jump my car in the morning with the stars and no hint yet of winter sun, just the darkness,  hard like guns. Did you ever buy from her? I thought so but I wasn’t sure – yeah she helped me out once but I really should keep my mouth shut, closed up, fresh cut, live but probably on tape delay. She was a gun runner kilo-tonner chew gummer major bummer and I’m out of things to say.


~ by perfectionatrix on December 25, 2009.

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