Sunday, November 14, 2010

Flash Fiction Friday #21: Fresh To Death



It wasn’t how fresh
his mark was whenever  he went out,
or the way his shirt hung just right,
or the way his  jeans hugged his hips
and the demim kissed his skin,
or the combination of dimples
and bashful smile that always smelled of mint
that got me,
but it certainly helped.

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