A meander within the labyrinth of a psychosexual, kaleidoscopic celebration of love. Exchanges become snakes eating their own tales. Pushing and pulling the material lands around like an archetype having no form of its own. A release, torrential shadows, blood rushes and clots by bound sailor knots, bruises mark time existing only in thought. A movement, a whirl, a reach. Excavating histories beneath a pastures of follicles, batting lashes, lashing back, skin fragments becoming hole again. Whole with the force, fully fraught, wrapped unbending, to become one; another, we must lose ourselves again. The ebb is a duplicate of the waving of the sea and a tale bathed in radiant dreamt mystery. So we circle fun-housed mirrors neglect the simple intimacy we call ours without names. Masks are off now, disappear with us.

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