My thin Lisa stretching by the window tensing the meridian line of her long waist into a taut bowstring, a hollow seam, a spine etched through the quartered muscle and the flaring ribs up to the lean breasts furled on their spars of bone. Beautiful hare caught running by the light; snared in the blue field where a lone jet ploughs a white furrow. Two halves of an animal perfectly sewn into something more than their parts. Her warmth, where she lay curled beside me, starts to fade.Birth sign: Libra
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