Curtain flicker: your eyes, no—my eyes, nighttime windows: women walking half-naked back-lit big screen TV, what am I watching? No one made a Netflix special of your smile, I blink the digital world out of focus. I want to drown you in gin and other spirits that have gone out of style, but I can’t get the taste of tea and chocolate out of my mouth. I’ll make my tongue deletable if it touches the buzz in your throat. In the plainest of terms, you remind me of too many other people to be yourself. You’re an endless scrolling of thumbnail entertainment. I react to you in loops. Sometimes you respond with ink reflected in your iris. The women never remember to shut the blinds at sunset. I teach them how to kiss without meeting your lips.
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