That big-headed bimbo
spitting her speech before me.
That duplicitous dweeb
working her walk before me.
That squeamish squatter
twisting and turning before me.
Cursed be your hands in my palm.
Cursed be your strokes on my arm.
Cursed be the face behind your glance.
Cursed be the days of your silence.
May God forgive you.
I can not.
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