My pulsing iris: what pulls you now? The charm of lip: chump change to this. His torso wider than deep, more diagonal than that. I’m dizzy over hair, a fan of his combing. Damn desire. I can’t stop staring. Starry and falling, I am forward-sinking and seeing more than something. Looking is like licking. The one time I can’t talk. A clock, a face, I’m noon, an oh oh, an exultation that lacks language. Excision of my mouth.
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