Never just an unmade bed but a sock stuck to the duvet,
beat the beat the beat in my ear running through my fingers
lost clothes and accessories of a pig farm, rotten thought with sharpened tongue and dulled wit
searing suggestion and anticipation, reach up reach. reach.
in a tree high above the ground that looks so small and useless when the sky looks so big and attainable.
power behind me licking at my back and my feet
Lost in a haze, mellow and confusing, easing pleasing
escape or awake
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