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Vivid dreams that I sometimes see right before me, gnawing every inch of sanity, seemed to appear in the nightmare of our daydream. (I step my soles up on the town hills, I think I am finally worn for your promising rings 𝄖 / I am a forlorn lover, I am a lonesome lover, I am a foreign hoper.) 𔒱

Here on the blank page, where your weeps never cease to fall, it all begins—upon the paper where your blood dawns like forenoon, walled in a back-and-forth embrace; WE WERE ALWAYS HUNGRY AND WERE BORN WITH HUNGER. | ❝Mine is always starved for love whereas yours is always starved for lust.❞
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