This is the rest of minutes & ours are ours. A sidewalk is the second sentence. We’re blocks past the last ninth month. We’re a cigarette without smoke.

I Am Something After

She’s back massage in a sweater sans animal. The second sentence wears itself. I step in blinks. I breathe so windows.


The first sentence is whites with a jingle. She’s chested Seattle; we’re raining degrees. Portland’s in four months or litter. There is little like less isn’t. I ask the insane to look moon tonight.


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