You are in a dark hall with many doors,
The black beyond compounds the closer black.
Maybe this is what your hands are for—
Typing, maybe, to summon the time before
(Whole Malbec Bottle gives you +15 Honesty) (Artifact)
Before you fell into the dark hall with many doors,
His frame, pale and still as a birch on the dancefloor.
His eyes locked with yours, and time went slack.
Maybe (you thought) this is what your hands are for.
Then a string of easy nights, of course.
(How many? You didn't realize you had to keep track.
You are now in a dark hall with many doors.)
A summer of blowjobs, pancakes, star trek, apple cores,
The love that shivered through your body like a crack.
Thinking finally, this is what my hands are for.Now is the choice: forget it all, or