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On the edge of the bed steam rises from the teacups on the top of the SuperSer. She scratches at her stockings where the heater element points and folds her legs sideways. Somehow I cannot stop staring at her. The changes in the years since we last met ar
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What can I offer you, White Moon?This full night lays black before your stoic assent—and Ibreathe my final breath, frantic—for you. I wait, damned,a bestial lover in the broken dark of the variety market, whisperinga word of forgiveness to an empty window. I…
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