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you’re not as small as your circles, your cycles


you’re so big you’re so wide you’re so impossible


you’re the mess you’re the rot you’re the first sigh


stop tearing at the bloom inside you


before they even get the chance to see


you’re robbing them of your deliciousness


when you exist to be tasted and to taste


delight is free— it is the first pulse you felt on your skin


desire is the mechanism of your breathing


every inch of you electric, you’re touching everything