By | 1 February 2017

I love sex; I don’t desire it. I’m in it – then I leave the room. On my bike. Then dancing. Then dying in my father’s hospital surrounded by tulips and daffodils. It’s spring. Winter. It’s fall. Now summer. I am either very late or a little bit early. You call and ask me to listen to your green velvet bible, your precious medications. I can’t remember the name I fell from in that life. I only know that I left the party around two, went home, changed my clothes and walked to the bridge.


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