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Motes

Their forms have leaked into my mind; women who have become interchangeable body parts in a chemical reaction I have with myself. A female once undressed with a smile seeps through closed lids, another woman, once passed on a street lived for years as a reoccurring fantasy; she suckles an incubus, born from a proliferant lust. It returns to me now; speaks as an imago and apprehension. "Don’t worry father, my crippled condition can't be seen behind your open eyes".

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things