Karen Brooks

Her voice smelled like garlic, eaten raw, full of bursting flavor; ripe, crunchy, inedible but wanted in every ounce of noise, chatter and silence. Nasal but creeping up slowly to surprise with a tingle, tinge and taste, likened to teasing. Wanted, needed, healthy, whole but with an after-taste only noticed by those that haven’t been party to the having of it. Craving more, needing more even while knowing it chases others away. Such was the power of her delicious voice.


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