peachtree

by Steven J. Serafiani

I climbed a peachtree the other
dream; a bikini Aphrodite
sucked fuzz spit. I can’t
control libido Ibiza
reale- it is a curse, the need
to bed all
beauties equally. “A writer,” she
repeated. “I know a writer and he’s
a womanizer,” she quipped. How do

I respond to such an allegation? Does
the Allegheny flood in rainy- or,
does a leather glove driver need
ferrari? All truths minus
derogatory spill. I need all and
suspire
all. Just as humid night
bug needs
blood.

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