tried to beat the devil out of you. I tried to love it out. You were born soiled. And you died in your own soil. No one knew. But I do. I canβt wash my hands clean of it. You tried to cover it
after ***, wipe it away with the washcloth on the nightstand. Take me to the bar afterwards. We conversed about heaven and hell, Adam and Eve while you ate the salted olives in the ***** martinis. I went home
with a buzz to my handicap son. You drove off in your ******* black car to your townhouse, the urbanite monk that likes to park his junk at 41 Seaverns Avenue. The devil made me. What - buy this dress? No. Take it off, along with myself and my pride
and everything else honorable and respectable and shuck it like an oyster to **** out the slimy middle. And then drink it down with brine. How is it in the fire pit? You were always smoking hot.