28 August 2010


The old man grabbed at the contours of her body.
He couldn't believe how gorgeously young she felt in
his leather hands.
Her giggle, mixed with nonsense and beer,
reached his ears in a frenzy of all the things he knew he was missing.
He kneaded her flesh.
Needed it. To feel normal.
Like any drug.
He wanted to melt her down,
to inject her into his unconscious veins,
or chop her up and inhale her
into his tobaccoed lungs, crying for oxygen.
He craved an addiction to her.
He wanted her in all the shakes and tremors it would
take to loosen his grip on her sweet, sweet flesh.

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