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she wore indian

she wore indian bones
brushed with indian strokes
of hazelnut cream
topped mocha on her hands.

dark inner almond nails
roundly tipped
of walnut tapped
a plastic nothing
as she cried, or laughed,
or sang, or screamed
fragile notes.

i only know they were
of something, to somewhere
someone waiting to feel them waited
as

i shared her indian
cooked skin
through layers of air.

an onion gave me more
than it had been.

i took the train
to change my space
your round face body
changed my move
mood up with your
dark cream nude tones of what.

your lips knew my song before it left my tongue,
and i knew yours before it hit your ears.





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