If there is a special Hell for writers, it would be the forced contemplation of their own works. -John Dos Passos

Monday, April 9

Ragdoll

We have wandered
The air-conditioned Mecca
That is the mall
Until we have seen
Every store at least twice
And still bought nothing.
You tell me to find
Your perfume
Because you are bored
And when I
Lean in
To smell
Your
Neck
You push me away
And say to loudly
"Stop fooling around!"

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