VII.
HABIT—ALREADY THE END?
Nana goes
Nana is coming
Nana fucks
Nana passes
Nana thinks
To leave
Then doesn’t think of it
Anymore
One two three
I swear
One two three
One thousand francs
And a wee
Sip of white
In the stomach
The sensation
Of swallowing without
Filter or saliva
Sandpaper
Rust and filings
Vomiting
Twice already
Between two passes
Lapped envy
And the unenviable
Brick at the end
Of a hard
Busy day
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