Lolita light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin. My soul. Lo-lita. The tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three on the teeth. Lolita. She was lo, plain lo in the morning standing four-feet ten in one sock. She was lola in slacks, she was dolly at school, she was dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms, she was always lolita.

Found on a bench at kenmore station.