Once we were fists and clothes slip and urgent at every point. I waited to taste the optic chiasm in you.
Now we are note takers, plotting what we’d do to Tania and Tim and my script says, “Suck, suckle, spit,” and yours says, “Win”.
July2061
Once we were fists and clothes slip and urgent at every point. I waited to taste the optic chiasm in you.
Now we are note takers, plotting what we’d do to Tania and Tim and my script says, “Suck, suckle, spit,” and yours says, “Win”.
July2061 