I have to admit, and I still have to
hide
That my glance is drawn to your
breasts.
I'm walking out of Babylon at a
mountaineer's stride–
One step for every three breaths.
I'm walking to someplace smaller than
demons' eyes
If not any smaller than their stomachs.
If it's one-seventh of my dreams, it
will be better.
If they let one-seventh of my mind in,
I'll write letters.
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