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V.

O hollow temperature & sudden body of surprise, believe me when I say I'm grateful for my teeth, the whistle and whir of secrets spooled against my promises. There are dresses I'll never wear again but spread across my bed, I imagine their pleasure, zippers against my hips, bracketing my ribs, their seams pooling. Or, there are deliberate words that wear my shoes out at night, shuffle in the dark, returning home in the morning reeking of oranges and odd spices, suggesting another false ending is about to begin.

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