Dear Raven, The naked mole-rat intentions that rashesthe film of your eyes nudges the clay whichcrumbles in a whisper, spotting a flutter,hissing into the dust I bite. Bathe under your chalky roof, sculpted fromliquor-sweet caresses that anchor you deepwithin the acrid taste of dusk, as your chest plumps insplit beats—and let me condition your bones. Hold your breath while I drop a hope, so the rippleof your skin isn't as clockwise as mine, or the shavings from my craven hair drizzles where youresist the least, letting you roam where I froze. I'll wear the sores for you, so you won't have to rise—a bokeh glance our blinking, understood sentimentsthat refracst in the sifting pores snapping our bond.Just lie, incubate in the heat before you molt,to melt the ice and the static thickness of my vessel. To your regards,Raven 

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