Manuel Arturo Abreu

the friend from your notebook


The friend from your notebook will visit. It's not quite that distance would sigh, but that some kind of glowing began leaking. Not other kinds. Nature fucks me in the portal, as you can imagine. I go candle on these fuckers, imagining whole valleys building smores. Ghosts using inside voice.

Breathing in a kind of false atonality. Saying something faux-revealing is about timing. But not enough nodes to land in. I want a fluffy node with knobs, not thinking. Now feeling flung from your boredom's coast. Candy always from the gallery. The bowl of keys looks like a snowglobe. You leave. Technology was meant for azure. You say it idly, like doing laundry.

With you gone I cum to a video you left me. In it you insert your iPhone into your vagina. Done, I squirm and want to put my cum back down my urethra. Smoke more blood. In the stories I am the asshole or sometimes the victim. There are also jokes I'm not in on. But I love this cute outfit for going out in.

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