What holds us together, for all the space between each piece, where does one puzzle begin and the other inverted soul stop?
By which piece do they divide? I stop my hand from touching you, I know that my quick, sharp nipples rise and breathe already upon your softwhite salad porcelained body.
Someone stamps my hand, I watch… turn… and fail to see that the reflection in the mirror is me. Through that soft press I am within my self and choking choking for the mercy of small gaps
that makes me never you nor me
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