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 He was six foot four, and forty-six
and even colder than he thought he was
James Thurber, The Thirteen Clocks

Not that I cared about the other woman.
Those perfumed breasts with hearts of pure rock salt.
Lot's wives- all of them.
I didn't care if they fondled him at parties, eased him in at home between a husband & a child, sucked him dry with vacuum cleaner kisses.
It was the coldness that I minded, though he's warned me.
"I'm cold," He said- (as if that helped any).
But he was colder than he thought he was.
Cold sex.
A woman has to die & be exhumed four times a week to know the meaning of it.
His hips are razors his pelvic bones are knives, even his elbows could cut butter.
Cold flows from his mouth like a cloud of carbon dioxide.
Hie penis is pure dry ice which turns to smoke.
His face hands over my face- An ice carving.
One of these days he'll shatter or he'll melt.

by Erica Jong
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