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the buffet you waited for





i press my hips into a cake.


blood creates a kind of contract. 


a pale and crumbling pile,


melded by heat,


cells bind, they fall apart, you 


could choose to eat. 


i realize connection, ferried by 


molecules too small


to weigh, is not the thing you want. 


hunger just sears on.


it snaps. a greed 


materializes in the void.


you say, share everything. 


i could press my hands into 


the batter. and lift them out to


you, like oblation. 


to resist prestige is to treat 


life and death the same. 


but form is empty. it


is the only thing you


Elle Nash wrote Gag Reflex (Clash Books, 2022).

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