Why You Can Fuck to Indie Rawk
D. Michael McNamara
When I dream of us,
I am the only surviving
Wonder Twin
and I form of gelatin:
we are not so much
elements
or inanimates,
but abstracts,
and I cling to your curves
and press against your acutes,
but do not invade.
When we make love,
I wish to escape
entity
and be not foreign,
but extension:
like sound,
there is invasion,
acceptance,
and belonging:
holy may be origin,
but beauty is transcendance.
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