Sunday, February 28, 2010

Bathhouse Diaries

Bemoan the lover gives him no peace. Who said that? First thought upon hearing him weep. Forgive me, forgive me. I can make out the words despite choked throat. Pity, that’s what he wants. Is easy to give, but I’m not going to. Not this time. Too late, I said, but he wasn’t listening. Didn’t want to, I like to think. Easier to be nasty that way. 

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