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© 1999-2016
Postmodern Village
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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
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.

Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version -- Inspiration
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