Tricia loved the saxophone;
The alto vibes and the highs…
Caressing the wound up gramophone,
She felt the music in her thighs.
Tricia, the evil vixen, danced
In taverns under midnight skies…
Barkeeps knew her all too well:
Her every conquest dies.
Found in seedy hotel rooms,
Bound in handcuffs and neck ties…
Melted into lumpy
mattresses;
Consumed by maggots and houseflies.
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