Secret DirectivesRuth Williams
Li told me we should move to China where we can finally live together in happiness chow fun limelit in the educational backdraft of our dialectical tongues. My slab to your tooth, togetherness measured by the proper position of the tongue. Aping perfect pronunciation, I will carry us on the whistle edge of my toe. To forest to your ocean, to scrim to your wax. Even now, when you say you have a "life problem" this only dials back my red shoe to a kind of secret throb, this unexplained you becomes the heel of my ear. So I have bought you a dessert cake to make indirection easier. A soft dent. Chow fun, dear. Chow, hundreds of deer. A sugared hoof in your mouth.
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