Turner Foster

Rookie (9-4-89 / Cold room*)

She Is A Rewind Button

Green eyes and sequential two dollar bills.
She picks up the phone with distorted, dismembered hands.
'Hello.' A brief indecision. 'I love you.' She's sure.

Now chapped lips disipate upon mine,
and I push harder into them, in infinate rage.
'Hello.' She breathes heavily. 'Harder.' Infidel Castro.

Regret the sincerity, I tell you I can't.

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