I told my mother about you. Mother who bore me not, who won't swap light for a stone when it refracts in her womb. She says you're so on top of things. I'd like to be a woman on top of things. But what we cannot be, see or touch we lust for, we live searching for, blind blue eyed baby who never grew hair or shimmied off her skin, until it pooled at the ankles—so I suppose it's true to say you are the better half of me, the part I was told I had to leave at the door of the restaurant because they will not pour soup for a love like us here.
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happy pride! for the second time ive fallen hopelessly in love and done nothing about it! Glory be to the Most High! do you like the 1975's new song!
