gay romance
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Times never change, Sappho//You could not weave and I could not write tonight//She asked me to write her essay for her (she hates English class) and I said yes—like a fool to the stockades//I turned my essay in late because of her but it
I.
You were the beacon I needed
as we trailed along a scattered glass shore.
Brine on flesh, we wished to sail
against the heartbeat of crashing waves.
