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I crave your imperfections
fur petticoats drenched in spices
cacti sitting on a windowsill in winter
spider webs climbing up your face
attached to the narrow point of your clavicle
skeletons dancing in a ballroom
and you are standing alone
listening to the clicking
of bones rubbing one another
and eroding people
into a pile of silt
we’re lonely
and starved
from your presence
and absence




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