It’s an usher kind of day.
and i’m guessing your not mayumi’s husband
a rubber notion reject
you look like you’d eat pussy.
I can’t smell you in my dreams
but your touch lingers like samples of perfume
nipple flesh is emptiness when you can’t touch the whole tit.
square sentences seem to occur nocturnally
and my, what big eyes you have, all the better to burn me with.
the plastic of my shoelaces searing salt through my bones
bury my head in your beating drum
scrap the sides off
if you do it more than twice it may become a ritual
i think about insanity and overaccessorizing
dirty girls have dirty hands.
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