Friday, March 17, 2017

her knuckles are always dry and cracked
from too much washing.
i rub lotion into them and whisper
about lakes and mountains and the process of 
being so wet that you become the water. tell her
"you make me so wet that i become the water"
before sneaking back into the night, too scared to expose 
my carapaces, these baby teeth, this
shell, cracked. 
i worry 
she would not want to 
crawl inside, whisper
"i want you to crawl inside"

she makes me sign a contract in her own blood to 
spend the night, spread across her stomach, finger marks
on the inside of thighs and she signs her letters as
"love"
with no name, 
just love
with no name.

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