“I do not write to you, but of you,/because the paper that we write on/is our perishable skin.”
“ink marks the page/where you execute your will like a doe announcing an/ox-stern mate with a single, bleary blink.”
“I walk with a dual longing for life and for death.”
“Tonight, I won't dream, because nobodyhas held me and no hands have strayed and eventhough I'm drunk with love, my arms are empty.”
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