there’s this prickling, uncanny feeling {the way i fell asleep last night, with my arms tossed at odd angles over the denim couch and a cat fleshed out over my side}
where the world is awful and the sheets settle in arterial clumps around you
and your pretty odd bones all
perfection hidden by meat
the prettiest things.
i will never imagine anything better than those {here and affectionate and electric, scattered hum of our valved voices in the largest walled space anyone can occupy
the sky is decayed, golden
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