by Nour Kamel
Pleasure: something you take in in gasps, as everything falls apart around you, as everything bets on your nonexistence and hastens it, actually.
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you curl against me like a burning hair as airstrikes pock the hillside, bare earth red as afterbirth. upturned. we knob until we find fairuz on the radio.
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the bouncer of my road house heart my wild Johnny the first man i thought to love
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