Call to Outlaws

Editor back-issues, poetry

I.      The Garage Knelt beneath the staircase my skin hummed against the threat of discovery, the shock of her blonde hair, the string of his guitar, the damp silhouette beneath my thin cotton dress. Clouds of laughter and smoke swung between us, a circuit of pungent electricity rocked with soft delirium. She kissed my lips with curling halos of marijuana and…

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