April 11, 2013
Yes, I see you,
all six bloody
inches of you spread
half-wide and I’m all
half-tied, tongue-tied,
couldn't ever ask to die
but Lord knows that your
coarse fingertips on
my skin feel more like death
than any cadaver and
any mistake, can’t seem to
find the right words to
describe the way you
shriek at night. Yes,
I see you, all twenty-odd years of
you— maybe this isn't right.

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