you know how it starts, babe
how we gnash teeth against shoulders & pick eachother apart like vultures & separate layers of meat with our fingertips; it's not like we can do much else— when two plugs entwine by the wire & connect, god throws stones but when i leave fingerprints on you it's electric & it's heretical to call eachother good, yet we continue down to the bone— actin & tropomyosin contract and we sigh like pigs in a slaughterhouse who can't stop kicking— god holds the shotgun at the end of the line because he didn't make our bodies for each other, babe; this wasn't part of his plan
be my butcher and i'll be yours, alright?
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