Baby Do My Washing
Sunday, It’s Pretty Hot Out There And We Have Nothing Left To Do. We Are Sitting On The Bench Waiting For The Washing Machine To Finish. He Smokes Nervously, As He Always Does And He Passes Me A Cigarette. I Feel Heavy And I’m Dripping With Sweat. He’s Staring At Me That Way With His Icy Blue Eyes And I Feel I’m Melting. I Feel The Smoke Caressing My Skin. And The Sound Of The Washing Machine Never Stops.
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