The margins of you held the filthiest annotations I'd ever dreamt of making. [incipit] The main text behaved. In the gutter ran the true manual, lampblack wet at the corners, a sly hand writing where librarians dare glance twice. [gloss of the seam] First rule of writing. Work
Hello is this death or rebirth? your mouth? is somewhere lost in thought & i am already slipping in not through skin, no, through the door of yes ushered on breath touch me like a question you want to live inside (oh god, did you feel that?) when the embrace
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