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What I Want

There’s a little less blood in my veins than usual,
so I’m high in a tender, sleepy way.
You could lay me on your kitchen table.
Flutter your fingertips over my skin,
make me enjoy being cold
and then warm.
I’d be safe to fall asleep.
You’d let me learn,
at the speed of a strung-out simpleton,
what I want
and don’t want.





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