3.
When we were young, you taught me to equate love with sleeping companions with long spindly legs sticking out over the bed. Mosquito nets could be a fetish. A girl with iguana sex drive will replicate me in sand boxes. You vomited from memories of ruined safaris, of artificial jungles. Imagine, you said, a world where there were no pups or cubs or guides with indigenous names. My theory of your darkness: One half of your world sleeps alone, but no one flicks on the light bulb to check. Either there is no light bulb big enough or it's too expensive.

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