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Fly-bag Kristofferson Soriano


Sitting on a bench waiting, Drooling for the lines there under Smoking cancer for the dead of night Under the light shade so near, Risking surname, flirting with shadows, Receiving enervated stares from


Sexiness who just came from wetting their thighs, Sublimely stroking the lamp post Asking for the corner more light; Minutes of being alone – of senselessness, Of remembering wet dreams so intense, Came a lady, cleavage covered with her hand, On her back a bouncing black bag prevents Sight nailed, instead, on a lizard Running after her tamed evanescence, Climbing her legs, of course then thighs; Poor me, lucky lizard was going to her hips, In her bag the lizard went – stupid lizard Wasting time I would not have! Then falling after the other I saw A fatter lizard still munching – from her bag? He was teasing – I said, “No thanks, I don’t eat flies.”


W PAGE 34 ∙ Year I ∙ Issue #1


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