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sext: so this is love, so this is lust. you roll towards me at 4 am with something hungry gnawing at your belly. hold my wrists above my head. clasp my throat in your palm. spell out beautiful ugly things on my thighs with your tongue. we write masterpieces on those bedsheets. spill out, keening. nerves tangled like clothes on the bedroom floor. our bodies make an art installation. we call it desperate. we call it fucking. we call it light.





