I don’t know when the boysbegan to walk away with parts of myselfin their sticky hands; when lovingbecame a process of subtraction. Or why,having given up what seems so much,I’m willing to lose even more — erasingall this body’s known, relearning it with you.
I don’t know when the boysbegan to walk away with parts of myselfin their sticky hands; when lovingbecame a process of subtraction. Or why,having given up what seems so much,I’m willing to lose even more — erasingall this body’s known, relearning it with you.
