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Los Angeles, California
I am 47 and thriving in Southern California. One day at a time.
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Wednesday, November 23, 2011

the mormon connection

purple socks...

there once was a little red haired girl*, whose first borne sickness sang "puppy love". he had dark, thick hair and giant white teeth, too sweet on his sister beneath. they danced and they sang, lame comic routines, his was the first pop concert she seen. he so ruled her world, she had his likeness in doll, and multiple pairs of "the" socks. her crush romanticized so, a fantasy struck, where she lay in the hospital stuck. she tingled with thought, that he strode to sweep her away, with forbidden undergarments in tow.

[irony meet henriette's permanently braless chest]...

the would be groupie grew up, crowe's "penny lane" unmanifest, but jammed concert scenes hard like a pro. crushing on rock stars and pop stars, with passionate vocals, screech forever her violent love strain. leather clad irish, and canadian wildish, and many hot stud in between...

then came the mormon heartthrob, everywhere throb, metrosexualyricist-extrordinaire. he kills with his passionate, vulnerable yearnings, he kills with his innocent, otherworldly learnings. has the world at his feet, any girl/boy sure to sleep (with), but pops them out with his bride...

next spectacular spectacular, the little red haired girl was carpeting high on adrenaline, beer and pills; tassels twirling. alone she marked the mosh pit for two, as partner in crime went for brew. then a stranger in paradise broke through... "this ain't my first rodeo, dude", was quick what she wrote, but kind voice, kind face tilted head. numbers exchanged, bliss on a musical plain, then back to utah he went...

he wrote and he wrote, and her eyebrows would lift, not grasping the purest of truth. he would give and give more, as she crawled on the floor, begging, pleading, just taking, take more. music sent broke her in, then caressed her pure melt, into friendship across cyber waves. they don't talk, she writes less, but his music lifts up choking haze. every day he sends song, she has no time to reply, but she listens and fills up on fresh notes. through lyrics and rhythms, and the greatest life lesson, he gently, gracefully deposited hope.

for j. xo

*food for (father figure) thought:

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