#20

it can only be an instinct Half-animal that keeps me Inside the
house of your Body something as Yet un-named in its
urgency that Holds me in the Pulse of your skin (a pulse
deeper, it Seems, than my own) For it is here I have Chosen
to ride out Storm and ruin To live in these rooms as if this
would always be Enough it is Such an odd Song of being

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