He touched the small of my back when my voice rose with my passion and heated remarks...
when I spoke to him of my worlds.
He'd cool me down.
I told him my fiery insides
the fusion reactor mind that would never settle...
and he'd cool me down with his lips on my thighs or his beard rubbing across my stomach.
But he never really spoke to me when my voice cracked
or when my tears really did drip
with that profound loneliness that sometimes strikes us all and he never spoke to me when my anger and my passion
really did need someone to caress them.
He comforted me when he thought i needed it, but never when i really did.
either i didn't come across as well as i thought,
or he was never really my friend.
but, damn, his lips were sweet
and he was warm
and he kept me happy for a few nights.

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