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your hands are on the dashboard
long, brown fingers with the
nervous scars
playing with the little hula girl
we bought about 200 miles back
just to make us laugh
at some texas gas station
with the snowballs & playboys
we were craving
in these
late night southwestern silences

& when your pinky curves around her grass-skirted
waist
& your eyes look toward the ( Read more... )

Once there was a tree...and she loved a little boy ( Read more... )