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La Fin De L'Affaire

Tags: loss, affair, end

You wipe your paintbrush with the silk panties I bought on the way home from visiting his tiny grave. It was the day we met, in that Pigalle dive bar, where you danced close causing thin milk to stain my blouse, and much later, reeling towards dawn, fingered my slit, as we stumbled up to the attic room with its surprising view of the sky.

"I really don't see the point of going on," I hear someone say.

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