you, you were so much more. you cried empathy from sweet tender flesh. I remember the night before. so much more than everything, you were oblivious at that time, we sat eating ben & jerrys with baileys poured on top. If it wasn't for the snow, I never would have the sweet strong grip of your arms. It was dark in there, that creaky mattress, the sweat of your shoulders in the overhot covers. did you feel that leather, on the book spine, as if it covered some ancient vertebra, the flaps spread open like batwings all labia and forgiveness. what a secret that was. you were angels and you took me down dark corridors and you showed me the new buildings and there was no angelic vengeance, just a holding in arms and a search for the center of the beat. that was everything, do you remember what was in that book, that was written with the semen of kings, the one we spent 300 years binding, and binding, and binding. It was comforting in the final 'i love you' to be the person I was there, to be the kind of person kicked out of the Empire State building, like you, like it was some disneyland circus. It broke the others hearts, all of that, but they will heal. and you were so much more than everything i wanted, but you never did get that great book open. you were angels and we watched from afar, during the act, all magic goddesses and the strict passion of the holy but we only touched the earth with our tiptoes. you were angels, and it doesn't take a take-home genius to tell the stars we're the ones.

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