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Let me tell you something personal.
As a child, I worried about quicksand.
I don’t know why I mention this.
I feel no connection
to the child who had that fear,
instilled, as it was,
by ’50s films about explorers,
and tainted now.

I hold out my hand.


Brownian motion;
primal shudder.

The way it’s hotter

to go to bed with someone
while imagining

to be another person.

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