There’s a vortex with your name on it. There’s a hole in the ground that will take you to a place where the animals roam far from the scum we’re ashamed to call our own. When you squeeze your eyes shut and clench your teeth, do you feel their fur at the tips of your fingers? When you lie on your back and slide into another place, do you feel their breath on your face as the sun goes down on yet another day where you’re miles from where you need to be? There’s an echo of the past that lulls you in when it shouldn’t. There’s the promise of a kiss that keeps you from crumbling even when that kiss seems the most unlikely of outcomes. There’s a vortex that could be a portal, or maybe they’re just the same thing? From your arms to my bed, and from the stains of early morning sunlight to the shadows that dance on the wall in the dead of night as the animals move through the trees to a soundtrack of breathless, Japanese pornstar sighs. On your back, the years come undone, but what of the regret, and what of the guilt? When I’m smoking my cigarette down some alley bathed in the light of a streetlamp, what of my love, and what of my disdain for those who get too close? As the animals float like leaves on a stream, all voices carry. As sensations rise then descend, all journeys merge into one. From the music of your hips to the lyrics of your wrist, there is but one door. Made of light and memory, summon what you will and see the outlines of those you know blur before your very eyes.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

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