One-hundred and Eighty: Untitled

Oh! You’re unbelievable! Guiness and olives, bitter and black, rain
backwards towards the sunshine, like some sort of reward for
falling in the first place. We spent most of the hour biting hope,
choking on music that doesn’t mean anything anymore. That
velvet evening we had an underground wavelength, a flower
of language that amused us and burnt them. Put these words
into hot water and watch them unbutton themselves before
too long. His teeth were very loud but I liked his tongue on
my own. I’m on my own again, a wounded owl sleeping with
her telephone. I’m always somebody’s muse, but it is your soul that
is the art I wanted to hang up in my bedroom like a dream-catcher.

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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

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