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When at my lip’s breath and keys you photo
deaths and entryways. My zodiac’s blood.
Bleed my dim oxen. I find nakedness,
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oddly mine, divine. After a hundred
undone eyes I was curious what you
could see. But my body isn’t a prayer
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song for the dead. Make much of me, undo
combustion, the hooks of my tongue, stop-blur
jerks of my limb. Swallowed hard burn captured
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in your flash. In-between silence and noise
sleeps what can’t be explained; even 8-bits
had no word for it, save what you conjured
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in me. I am your Lady of Rent Boys,
Cocks and Ass; Holy Bull of Clits and Tits.
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