Stop it, Monica.
ok. OK. fleur for sure was jackin’ off. js.
I write in praise of the solitary act:
of not feeling a trespassing tongue
forced into one’s mouth, one’s breath
smothered, nipples crushed against the
ribcage, and that metallic tingling
in the chin set off by a certain odd nerve:
unpleasure.
–Fleur Adcock, “Against Coupling”
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