Your hands would have been on my bare chest. Your lips would have been on my bare chest. Instead, I am here alone, listening to the blues, thinking about making another cup of coffee, thinking if I should have a quarter rum instead. My kitchen looks like a graveyard. We could have made love there and make the place explode. Your tongue licking my tongue. My cock in your beautiful wonderful perfect ass. You sitting on me. My finger in your mouth. Your hands grabbing my hair. My hands pulling your hair. My lips sucking yours lips, your breasts, your neck, your ears. We could have made love right now. Instead, I am sitting alone with a stomach full of plastic, and a cock without an erection, listening to Shotgun blues, to Mr. Hooker who is going to kill some woman because she is maybe fucking too many men.
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