James Blake

is playing

and I want to be entangled with you.

A collage

of arms and

legs trapped under

and over one another

and hands searching bodies;

grabbing,

pulling,

nails clawing

into hips and

necks

and butts and

you and I

no longer exist where our breath

does not intersect with

the other and I

and you

fade into each other

like we are one another’s shadow

and in the nest of your organs,

under layers of skin,

I will gladly be put to bed.

Lullabies that sound

an awful lot like

“I Am Sold”

resound like echoes

in my head.

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