#1295

Love grows like a wild thing in my chest and oft threatens to break free from its cradle of flesh and bone, ribs creaking as they bend against the pressure of passion, the swell of the ocean against the seawall, and sometimes I long to succumb to this tidal push, crack open my breast, let the sonnets and psalms spill forth and sweep us both up, out, away until we float on strange seas below strange skies.

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