And then none of it mattered,
none of it mattered anymore—
whoever I am disappeared.
The recorder in my mind clicked off,
the mirrors in my head were gone;
and all that was left
was how much I could touch you
and how much you touched me.
none of it mattered anymore—
whoever I am disappeared.
The recorder in my mind clicked off,
the mirrors in my head were gone;
and all that was left
was how much I could touch you
and how much you touched me.
It’s a kind of silence,
touching and being touched,
a kind of blindness—
your sense of self falls away
and something wild blooms
in your skin, something
animals might call God
if they could speak."
touching and being touched,
a kind of blindness—
your sense of self falls away
and something wild blooms
in your skin, something
animals might call God
if they could speak."
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