by Francine DuBois
Driving at night always makes her think
Of the ex-boyfriend who growled at her
In bed, the one who made his throat
Vibrate with deep resonance.
At first she hated it, thought it was
A little too bestial, a little too primitive.
But she adapted, developed a little trill
Of her own, imitating those dancers she
Saw on Telemundo. She liked to believe
Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version -- Inspiration
Their relationship was a union of sounds,
A deep orchestra of utterances, syllables
Meshing together, high and low pitches
Alternating, a cadence of lust, but not love.
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