It was a family room with four made beds
and three light bulbs that didn't light, a fuse
that had blown in a silent hairdryer.
It was home for the night. The choice of beds
whispered hints of sex. I'd never refuse
boys on the phone, hot–breathed as hairdryers.
It was a family room with four made beds
and three light bulbs that didn't light, a fuse
that had blown in a silent hairdryer.
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