guttural growls of future selves

When the digital dust settles

I’d rather you ask me to dance.

When we are spun

into the web of our limbs

and surrendered sentiments,

I will unweave the sense

of my all-knowingness.

 

I will commune with the simplicity

of being with you, underneath a teardrop moon,

of nourishing the guttural growls

of all my future selves.

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