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Ode to Sagar


Open up your room,
so I can admire your
darling skin—
darkened by the Sun of Israel,
chestnut paint covering your body
except for your palms.
Your palms,
kept pale by residing on my body.

Let me be with you,
smell the scent of your sweatshirts
and stain my bed sheets with hints of you.
Scents of green,
pilled jackets.
Without you, I inhale air,
not my love.

Let me run my hands through your hair, to
glimpse at your ears perking,
your cheeks push the bottom of your eyes up—
your eyes—
specks of amber
drifting in a sea of chestnut.
Rest your hand in mine,
so I’ll feel your fingertips
without the skin and nails
you bit off.

Let’s lay on your bed,
so I can rest my head
on your chest and hear your heartbeat,
hear it fall
into love.

My love,
my love.






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