If it comes in small touches. If it doesn't come in words but instead a shared recipe for pumpkin bread. In forests at night where we listen to trees so that they aren't alone.

I would be your bloody Diana. Would be both bear and huntress, leader and follower, forever young for you. Would check the tire pressure on your Honda and never, ever complain.

If it comes like that, will you keep it? Spice on your tongue and blood on your lips and fatty meat in your stomach? I won't give it to anyone else.

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