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They will lie in bed, the two of them,
their sweaty naked flesh suctioned together
as they rest on their sides.
He contemplates the back of her body as she faces the wall.
The strands of her dark hair hanging under his nose
like the mustache he's always wanted but could never grow will remind him
of a warm, bubbly bath.
And as she hums the melody to a song he cannot place
he'll try forcing an *** between her *** cheeks. She will of course refuse this invasion
by elbowing him in the chest, and he will wonder what the difference between
putting something in one place
and not the other is. Then she will ask
in so many words why he hates women so much. This question will
befuddle him.
And he will tell her, in so many words, that when it comes to the attainment of absolute beauty
there can never be any hatred involved, and before she can take in such a response
he will tickle her and she will laugh while her legs kick the sheets off the bed.
And as she goes to retrieve she sheets she has kicked off the bed while laughing
he will put all beauty on its belly and slide it in
keeping it, reaching, while her cat sitting at the corner of the bed
its head tilted at a confused angle looks on. When he finishes
he will roll off of her and he will grin while lighting a cigarette.
He won't ask her if she came or not, he didn't ask the first time.
Then he'll stuff his hand inside a Kleenex box.
It'll be empty and he'll use a sock instead.