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take me.I want you to take me
Like youve never taken anyone before,
Like youve never touched, felt, held anyone
Like youve never wanted, craved, anyone
Like youve never needed.
I want you to touch me
Like youve just discovered your hands,
To look at me
Like youve never had the power of sight.
I want you to love, love, love me
Like its keeping you alive,
Like Im the organs, arteries, cells that keep you breathing.
I want you to have
Plenty of times before.
I am the one
that makes you believe its the first time
and know its the last time,
any of that will ever happen
layers.See, I look at you, and for a second, for a flash in time, I think you get me. I think youve unwrapped me from the layers that have kept me trapped all these years. I think youve destroyed the walls, one brick at a time. I feel like you can finally see me finally see the real me. I feel lighter, I feel less covered. I feel naked. But it feels good. Come to think about it, it feels fucking good. For a second, that is. Then I notice that I was simply caught in between one of my many layers, caught, twisted and tangled. Im trapped in between the layers that blur my eyes, blur my reality, make me see whats not there, make me believe whats not true, make me who you see who everyone sees. But its funny, because I wrapped myself tightly, careful not to let any light, or eyes, shine through. And I built these walls to protect me. To keep me strong and invincible. But whats funny is that I dont know how they turned against me. Theyre n
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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