Long hair, long limbs, long teeth. I follow, I meander, I stumble…. aimless in your carnage. I have no purpose beyond your hips, bones and skin that I study like ancient cartographers, as mysterious as the ends of the Earth and as dangerous as typhoons to paper ships.
I worship demons, because I’ve had no divinity in my life. My hand passes through God, and I’m left with dew sparkles on my arm hair. I press my hand against your molten skin and my fingerprints melt into your image. You give me coins for wine, and I strap the empty bottles to my shoulderblades. I fly into the death sun.
I wake up on damp concrete, surrounded by puddles of my own and others, and you unzip me to release the light. Your moans echo around the meaningless places – subway tunnels, bus shelters and railway arches. Empty eyes and…
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