when he holds me, i know he's trying to absorb me back into his lungs, where he will make me into smoke to breathe back into my mouth and i will let myself go into the ether his bedroom wall drops like a curtain to reveal people drawing us as luminous figures, my back arched, a bold stripe of charcoal, him bent over me as in prayer. or rather people sculpting us out of steel
melting each other down until we reach a perfect, smooth architecture like massive chrome shapes in a park somewhere. and when he holds me we are labyrinths of tilting levers, adjusting the pressure of our windpipes
to bring ourselves to equilibrium
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