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J. Cambridges


Toronto, ON, CA

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J. Cambridges

Fucking Hell Darlene.
I pushed up the window,
hit my head on the frame.
I was looking for the paper that never comes when it should,
damn him.
I ask you, Darlene.
Why deliver papers if you don't want to?
Regardless, on this day it didn't matter 'cause I was thinking of your thighs.
To be there every minute, year after year,
would be nothing short of breathtaking.
I know because I've done the minute part.
But my desires are frozen like a high-wire act in the wind.
And it drives me to a level of insanity that would start a sentence with a preposition.
Did I say proposition, Darlene?
I'm full of them for you.
Listen to old urge albums, drink, dinner...death.
It sounds pleasant to me. The death part I've done.
Drinks we're good at. Dinner I still owe you.
I'm concerned the urge stuff could possibly sink us though.

Please be honoured.
No matter where we find ourselves,
you are my chosen sentinal...
your touch caressing my heart,
relaxing my aggressive soul.
You persuade my cynical thoughts otherwise.
Perhaps I'm not so mad at the paperboy after all.
It's your mind and your astonishing thighs which are ruining my life.
I could never blame your character for that.
Goddamn your thighs, Darlene.