i'm frying. i'm frying. i'm frying.
like i'm a raw egg getting good.
i wanna burn you like cancer rays;
growing in your guts
and crisping your soft, shaven shell till it's edible.
if you can stomach that then you know how i want you:
your skin in-between my teeth
and me, growing inside you like erotic tumours.
it's not healthy but it's ugly-romantic.
if it's not killing me, it's killing you.
Love letter from Gran Canaria, March 2011
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