it hurts where I notice you can’t do the thing I thought we were doing. I was spinning straw into gold. you were talking about it. but as I sat at the wheel in the straw-stuffed room, for hot hours whispering my spell, exhausted with mythical effort and magic work, you were fucking a convenient
The first year, I would hold your hands, smile at you, spoon you as the big spoon, my breasts and tummy against your back, the fronts of my thighs against the backs of your thighs. If you fell asleep, that would be fine. I’d caress your arms. I’d kiss your hands, a blessing to your
I saw you as a smooth, creative person who needed very little. A bikesexual filmmaker artist northwest cliche. I thought you had a thousand friends. They were all over the world, and you could stay with them, when you toured with your film festival. Were you having sex with all of them? Not sure. Who