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tales from under the duvet
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
I sit across you on the tiled floor. Something gets caught at the back of my throat. I find myself wanting nothing more.
Nothing more than to sit here in this moment.
Cold tiles.
You.
Me.
With paperhearts in the background.
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yasmin
the rapturous, wild and ineffable pleasure of drinking at someone else's expense...
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