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It was at the party of white vodka Where I splashed the ice and liquor, a handmade fermentation, on your pure And often fondled breasts by strangers in dark closets called day to day. Two breasts swollen and I ripped your cotton blouse off at the party And blazed your solid whiteness, lust and whiteness, to the party and the witness, living in you, Called by some friend your "very pureness" and by another, "The tongue that speaks your soul aloud." As I rip your blouse off to expose the sparkling ice In the random wanton light upon your lips that partner mine.