growing up i used to have
dreams about moving to the city, about having
that apartment, the one with bookshelves
frothed with fiction too good to be true
and modern art, dinner parties
and other things
to defy the
in the living room.

but now i dream of
that place on your right shoulder,
that curve on your back
that bottom lip

let me remind you
how our ancestors
used to build their homes
by hand

in other words:
use your tongue liberally,

fuck me like the revolution is
somewhere there inside of us

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