Fragments of a Tale of Love

Wooden spoon. You stir up my insides like the ingredients of a soup with high ambitions for the effect it has on its taster.

Liberator. You transform the existing idea of self-suppression into an aspect of my history.

Law-breaker. You reach into my heart and switch things around in a way that should be illegal.

Part-fitter. You put a machine inside me that sets my blood pounding around my body and causes my fingers to tremble.

Sigh-producer. As you walk past, I “take in and let out a deep audible breath”...

The End

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