My Bach trumpet's mouth is contrite.
We both shed alligator tears
To the Love Jones soundtrack. Louis Armstrong
misses his wife. It hurts
To know the music means we
need to clean up. The repainted walls
Tell a sordid tale. Tears can purify
the heart. Even your tender
Kisses ache. Louis Armstrong
misses his wife. It's muted
On my iPod, the moments betwixt
fighting and fucking. The wall
Moans in silence. The horn vibrates
C, B flat, D, back to C again.
Your tongue teases my right
earlobe. Louis Armstrong
Misses his wife. No one called
til after the battery
Stopped. Our hearts and dueling
horns. Both horns are work.
At rest. Mike and Ally are
barely breathing. You open
My shirt like French doors
to passion. I am rigid
As an erect muscle. Mouth on the penis
beneath the curly hairs
This is the best pleasure,
make up sex.
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