my annual christmas letter
christmas smells like cat piss and dog piss
and dried cum and eucalyptus
and balmy bacteria, the sort that breeds in sponges and beneath mounds of skin rolling off the morbidly obese
fastening them to their broken recliners positioned closest to the toilet.
christmas excavates everything sexy from silent winter, like tight pores and glossy eyes and tree death.
ΛPГlCOT ГΛY