I think this is it.
I think this is,
you are,
that fiercely high cliff and I,
darling,
am the descent.
Can you see it?
Do you even understand that I am willing,
I am taking,
this moon of my body,
round, opalescent pearl of it,
and running it,
desperately,
headsmashedin,
off this cliff of you and plunging through
rocks and snags and branches
breathing deeply
through my holes and gashes
at the bottom.
Do you liked ripped moons?
Do you?
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