Men like targets
desires planted

spilled seed is a sin
the body is just a receptacle

flower mosaic crawls up walls
of dupont station
petals unfurl
colours flash like shots
in eyes open
pressed against windows

the tunnel crushed its leaves in wounds

will you bite my lip?
can I cuddle with Baudelaire in a bath tub?
we can talk about vampires if you want
we’ll mourn lost infinities
thrown to wind

maybe somewhere light years away

anonymous double will reap the benefits
of this obnoxious time

littered by the light pollution of open windows

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