I am interested in the way beings produce light
and where they choose to reflect it.
Then there's you, my sugar-wolf,
devour being your verb
of choice. And it's always choice,
isn't it?
You do not want to be your parents,
your brothers. I do not want to be the person
that wastes away while you figure out how
to forgive them. Or the invisible blood
that makes you run
from your body.
I think your skin is beautiful.
All the places you've been, and I will argue
that you smell like you've been dusted in heaven.
Even after you've covered me in teeth marks.
You don't always have to play
the villain or the coward. I can only say please
so many times before my tongue
falls out. A person gets tired. There is so much more
to you than this.
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