| *loolaville _poetry | |||||
| III. I stared in the mirror, peering at the new red dots under my eyes as tiny as the smallest of freckles. They seemed so obvious and I frowned, wondering if I should just make a sign out of construction paper reading, "I just made myself throw-up," instead. But the frown slipped into a secret grin as I looked at them again, and the same rush of pleasure and guilt coursed through my veins like the first time my fingers softly brought my body to a tingling shudder. |
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