transparent mattresses gray clouds stars of sad reunions sad centers of nectar frigid with ground below the spinal cord of is rotating hum is splintering wooden halo beneath the weight taken in installments anything is moon wear it whether pills or metallic sacrament saharan depressions the days' dials pursue robes flowing behind profound obsessions stringed instruments purpose is problem she'd kicked her habit i'll admit that i was hesitant infested persistent a leg up her skirt is motivation lurking around the telephone booth with its sincerest face on my legs would not and still last night the rosary between her knees her face from east to west like an echo between poles it was emotionally close captioned it read like telepathy as it struggled from shoulder to shoulder
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