The Slow Fade of Love
She taught me once to sing
A quiet tune, always
The contours of her body —
Indescribable but known to tongue and taste.
I suffered for music.
My ink speaks my regret.
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Destructive Anachronism
Musings of a 33-yr. old writer of fiction and assorted commentary, eternal student and bibliophile, Arsenal fanatic, polyglot Germanophile, Democratic Socialist, feminist, Unitarian and staunch advocate of LGBTQ+ equality. Let your freak flag fly.
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