We made love like green is blue. That’s because we were only half into it, though for the record I was the blue and she was the disinterested yellow.
All told, she owned fourteen books, but she saw her story as being made up predominantly of ten of them. Of those ten, six were stolen, one showed up at the kitchen table, two were made for her by a hidden Jew, and one was delivered by a soft, yellow-dressed afternoon.
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