I lick the face of the night.
Canines sharp as toddlers. Baby teeth not yet cut.
I am searching for a focal point, razor sharp, like headlights weaving through the creaks of a faraway road.
In the interim I swallow masticated memories and write fan fictions on the roof of my mouth.
the refridgerator light flickers.though we dance, it is not what I am looking for.
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