Ode to Tissue You, tissue, are the object of my praise you are the finest product of Chinese silkworms. Sitting in your box, you offer yourself To the sky, posed like a dancing ballerina. As a girl on her wedding night I must ravage you and ruin you with my sick nose, Yet, even so, you maintain your royal decorum sitting on your throne of empathy although I harm and ruin you your skin still strokes me gently and lightly as a mother stroking the hair of her most beloved children allow me to snatch up all your innocent beauty and use it for myself Yes, you, tissue. Unobtrusive, Demure, a wild rabbit white as powdery snow, soft to the touch, elusive, contorting in form, I praise you. Lorin Bucur
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