Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul.
Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the
palate to tap, at three, on the teeth.
Lo. Lee. Ta.
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.
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