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{sonnet #14} zach fishel against the pencil skirt and Audrey Hepburn hips, fingers slipped and tasted what it is to grip. Tight knit knuckles out of tune break a hymn like a buzz saw in the singing tides of an eclipse of lips and romanticism. Fuck a poet and watch your thighs chaff and shriek in ecstasy to be broken like a bell in a burned down church. |
