I am (or I was?) a glacier with water trickling down my sides to be imbibed my men, my stream of consciousness. So how have I slaked my own thirst for so long? A queer uncertainty hangs over my breath, invisible. What is a man to me but someone to throw into a singularity until it spits out feelings of gender and jealousy that I can pretend were mine? My body still contains me. My incapable hands clutch at his, wanting to push him in.
Absin beckons fall
The weight of expectation
Collapses young hearts
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