I wonder about your aboutness as I drift, again, in and out of sex induced slumber. I wake– it is time for me to slink, retreat, and disappear. The love struggle must end, work must begin. I get to the library, no shower, no clean up and smell of fucking, my secret unconcealed to those who come close enough to smell me. I drift all day helping patrons, but am not really there, still drifting in sex slumber–thinking of time spent and passed.
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