Fire-of-my-loins

Four Loko, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Four-Lo-ko: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Four. Lo. Ko. She was Four, plain Four, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Ko in slacks. She was Lo at school. She was DoLOres on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Loko.