Re­volver

Room Magazine - - CONTENTS - LEAH SAN­DALS

slick and dry, that flesh / in / parte- s al­most like a uvula a lover, a lou­vered en­trance to the place be­hind the autre place

purple scarf domed by dna and new­ton’s laws pulled down to root of foot oeuf!

et une urge more on the de­scent: a fe­male fe­mur white as ice tourne- ing torso to courant emu hard yearn­ing to sprint on dur­ing rem mais all grey-wet, totes mar­row w/i

then there’s zhe bi-lat­eral knee keen­ing to avant keeling fro al­ways hav­ing it boeuf- th ways

and when, on pointed toe, we rut a grand cru of sorts is spat, un grand cri too much

feu!

we run from this rue on lemur rungs, we rush to find une autre voie (rant: c’est la même, j’ai vue)

we avow va­ri­ety to gina, to voula, to ava we hug, we say, dif­férente- ly

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