The Concertina

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Much like folding up tawdry letters dotted with beads of foul cologne, only to reopen them
and smooth out the creases, relishing the tom foolery of mystic
A wandering lover croaks out saucy tales between falsetto moans and
walks on tiptoed air with ill-intentioned grace
Dreams of burlesque drain form a wine glass and
punctuate the red lipstick on a folded napkin





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