forget to measure Depth
I write a letter at the end of everything, only sending it finally when I am ready to hand over to the next. Seven years I have spent sipping at the smoked throb of at least 200 hearts. I felt quite o
“But yes I miss sharing.
Sharing seats sharing drinks sharing ciggies and dance floors and beds and hands and hearts. Sharing spit and swapping snot and dropping fivers and T shirts and sharing shit