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August 2, 2015
Falling up to the wonder blister, on the taught surface, feeling its sordid sheen, licking the wet expansion under the swelling organs pumping ardor and ennui like contrary angels vying for the emptiness granted tension's release in the muscular dark, behind the eyes, in the neutral room where kisses and blows are one, we take to the grapple, and the blister falls further, stiffens in its private oven, cool and hot, calm and tumultuous, the bead in the core, calling out for gestures, as electrical fantasy grabs hold, sculpts its connivance from the wet mass, targets its function like virtuoso.