I want everything. Soft soil, a tender you, and sunlight canoeing through windows, deciding who to thaw back into the big, tall whoosh of life—flies, bees. I want to tie a string around your waist—for you to adore my gentle leading. I’m full of hunger and whirled by visions in which I swallow tornados whole—some nights I sleep with strands of wind still dangling from my teeth. I’ve taken so much that my hands are heavy with having. My wants reach the ceiling. And I’m afraid there’s no—Oh, no my hard-limbed love, my tame-sigher, please understand there’s barely even room for me.
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