“i guess i’ll just have to fuck some sense into you, ” he said testily, when i told him that i thought the irish poems set to music that he shared with me were too stilted. i find it difficult to lie about art to him, and with a resolution like that, why would i?
still, it’s always one thing or another. he wanted me to drink from him. to carry him inside me. i wanted to wear him where i could feel him. in this, we stumbled easily on a compromise.
i wish that all of our disagreements could be settled so amicably
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