Confessions of an Indecent Angel

That night, I met my partner in crime, my confidant. Sharon had seen through my fakeness and called me to it. When we drank all her two six-packs of Guarana, she didn’t complain. When I French-kissed her, she blamed it on the alcohol.

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To My Daughter

We men never stop for women
we are always on the move going somewhere else:
          on to our next conquest,
          a tighter squeeze,
          a new adventure—
Our heads staring at the noon sun
like the breasts of a virgin at fifteen.

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