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1 Poetry
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i do not know how deep or how divine
but i want to die of rapture with an open mouth.
be full of it, running down the nakedest throat;
be the still of all of underneath.
where the lullaby of lust's love skins the alive. ...
if i gave to you the marble of me,
the deitess...
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i stay awake to watch the moments
you call me beautiful…
there must be an exquisite art
to being creatures malnourished and made,
i suppose, for no other reason
but how the soft parts of a girl fit
femininely inside a man’s fist, held tenderly
and tightly as to keep her like a...
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i believed the moonlight could change me.
if it would, make me yours, if i moved my head
on the cotton pillow, even moved my bed
to the window and slowly deadsea undressed in the open
lattice where i often wove my heart
and the milky way of my body.
i wanted beauty; a dangerous...
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early, in solitary moments, we
tried to guess each other’s fallen time.
and the weight
against me was like, i was about to say like no other,
but it is unmistakably human, like death. truth is
simply, you are not a burden.
my heart is.
i recall a time of falling flowers, when, for...
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(O)
i am tired of having arms; i want embraces.
turn, each life, into the landscape and stretch
myself into an evening without stars because i am
afraid he lives devotedly in the darkness.
i make my bed for the night, spreading
my heaviest eyes like quilts damp with floods.
the...
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