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Angle of Louis

In sleep, and with the bed a twist of sheets, with my body longer than hers but while our feet remain touching, my chest meets her shoulder at the angle of Louis, which is where there would be an asterisk if the heart had one, above and to the right, that sternal place where the head is most vulnerable to remove from the body should it be removed, the angle of Louis being the aim of the guillotiner; in sleep, though, where the remove of head from body is the aim of the willfully guillotined, the determined sleeper, the angle is simply where my shoulder rests against hers, borrowing something; our bodies are a fact of the bed, the twisted sheets; also a tomorrow-fact when we will make the bed and separate, just never completely.

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