who will bond me to a lord?
which parts shall i restrain?
when i find the sweetest sore,
where shall bury thy name.
what of desire, thick and deep
wraps around the space
pouring out the inbetween,
two faces around the vase.
my love for you is mirror—
creaks strange, sickly sounds.
time spread brings truth nearer,
same into the ground.
—hazy