a poem for today, 6 May 2012

a poem for today, 6 May 2012
[a letter sorted sonnet of thirteen sentences and its image]
Turn around.
The only reason I feel guilty about masturbation is that I do it so badly.
The only reason I would ever kick you out of bed is to fuck you on the floor.
Don't think.
I'd fuck me.
The middle of my sentence must have interrupted the beginning of yours.
Signs are not proof, since anyone can produce false or ambiguous signs.
It was awful.
I fought you.
I was up until 5am last night watching videos of cats getting belly rubs.
This may sound now unclear but it’s along these lines that I would argue.
Myself, too. 
We were wrong.

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