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LAYABOUT
Is this what getting old feels like? How strange. Find your way to the floor let your wrists pin you in a sunbeam in dreams, absconding. my friend my lover my bread come lay with me here hold an ankle, breathe in a bare neck, sour with sweat let the world ripen. Let it rot. Old flowers made new again. in wave in quanta These are all prisons. Our cells lay side by side. |