A dream. A romance. A love. In Words.
I think you prefer when the world "together" means not "a million," but just two.
I was one of the insatiables. The ones you'd always find sitting closest to the screen. Why do we sit so close? Maybe it was because we wanted to receive the images first. When they were still new, still fresh. Before they cleared the hurdles of the rows behind us. Before they'd been relayed back from row to row, spectator to spectator; until worn out, secondhand, the size of a postage stamp, it returned to the projectionist's cabin. Maybe, too, the screen was really a screen. It screened us... from the world.
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Was nice. Exciting. Anew. Renewed.
I felt his skin on mine, smelt him on me.
He sticks with me on my skin. And in my bed.
Never want to wash again. Ever.
Want to keep him that way, because he may never return.
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