Sunday, 13 August 2017

you, hands out to dance,
with me, afraid of shadows,
we inch across floors.
at

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  • (no title)
    when you call me "her" - dismissive-ness permeates i'm already gone.
  • (no title)
    the hole by the fence and the absence of barking suggest i'm dogless.
  • (no title)
    you think i won't leave, your anger like a prison. freedom: happiness