And God's eyes glazed over as the sky shut down. Long nights sucking bad teeth out of leper's mouths. And I spent fourteen weeks staring into cupboards in an unbuttoned shirt. I took up smoking. Then I quit. And I fiddled with your skeleton in all the right spots. Now I own you. I quoted other people's poems 'til your legs were uncrossed. And all those busy buzzing little vertices are converging very nicely indeed. So lie back like your mother and start milking those fruits. Little chicken-skinny apples dressed in spermicide suits. Now our juicy shiny skins just glow and beam and gleam from either end of the dining room. Now our juicy shiny skins just glow and beam and gleam but the taste's just not as good. I lean in and dab a spot of amaretto'd foam from your lip gloss with the nib of an empty pen. And I use other people's poems as paperweights for receipts and phimosis prescriptions. Superhappyadventuretime, again. Entzauberung. And every single day is just a little bit longer than just long enough. Just cos I'm asymptomatic doesn't mean I'm not sick. And the world ain't made of menstruating prophylactics. I'm not saying I'm not here but I see no face in the film of my chamomile tea. And I'm not saying that we didn't happen – you just didn't happen to me. And I don't feel in the least bit sorry, but I'm not trying to be.
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