Scarcity

Lips graze just barely on

My wrist, it is not me nor you

Licking the wounds

Too deep to heal

Hands roam floating on

My flesh, it is not me nor you

Brushing the goosebumps

Too cuspidated to sink

Whispers glide into

My ears, it is not me nor you

Calming the anxious swirls

Too savage to halt

Bodies pressed onto

Mine, it is not you.

It never seems to be you.

I want it –

to be you.


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