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Ode to her skin

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This is an ode to her skin. Cream swirls like in the coffee I don’t drink, with milk or without. Like the first time I ever really actually hugged her and felt her perpetually smooth and cool skin. With her cheek on mine like my breath on her breasts. Lighter than the rest, but that’s to be expected, standing awkwardly in her doorway on a now forlorn night in a now long time ago, her seeing me maybe for the first time with a reflection in her eyes, her cousins speaking little Spanish that I can’t understand. And I said something, at least I’m pretty sure I did but I cant be sure, because I’m sure that I’m not sure that I’ve ever been more scared in my life. But it’s okay to be scared when your in love, because love is scary as f*** and if you don’t think so you’re a terribly bad liar. Ignorant too, at least I was when I believed in an infinity, because infinity is everything meaning its nothing at all too also as well, nothing like me now. Now that I’m nothing because she took something from me into everything with him which is why I’m lying eyes wide open staring at a crack in my roof. Rain dancing outside like the patter of miniature feet you can’t see. And I’m sad, but that makes me happy that I’m sad because maybe I love her, alleviating me of the title liar or hypocrite when I’m pretty sure that I am both. But that’s okay. And so am I laying in bed with my eyes open seeing nothing but her soft brown skin.





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