I long to be inside you.
You remind me of someone I spent nights trying to deny.
I see you passing, in passing, run like mascara, goopy and blue.
You have been described by others… the word they use is ‘dirty’. They imply
I long to lap your mossy shores only to screw
you, just because I am a guy.
I have laid over you, but never pressed in. Don’t ask me who
you know said the sludge inside made you stink, or why
I told you the rumor, “You get around” got around. You
knew, huh, I painted your name on a rock in school. The high
I feel around you… let’s face it, we two,
you and I, would fit each other as each other. You outside,
I deep inside, together close as a tattoo,
you, pulling me in, clutching me like a wet skin.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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