23 Jul 2013, 2:48pm
Writing
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Stéphane Mallarmé, Arthur Rimbaud, Charles Baudelaire

(a duet)

Tonight I sleep with you and I’m wet, very afraid that you like me.
            You lie in your sick-bed and your thoughts are of me, of my name.
I want to suck you off, then spit.
            I want to be held (a little).
Can I call you?
            I want you sick of it.
Already I come to you when I can’t come, I go when I want to be let loose.
            We’re so alike.
Except that you’re an animal, all that hunger for nothing.
            And nobody loves you.
I’m so glad we’re sleeping tonight. I sleep against you and I stroke my body.
            In my mind you’re spinning inside me like a restless dog.

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