sharp as the memory
of a stolen kiss
a tongue cold as a blade
locking lips with the abyss
fingers that rove like mad dervishes
parting skin, digging in
spinning, gyrating, lodged into crevices
to reach deeper and touch the sin
the whispers that lacerate
with the force of winter
leaving the mouth with a bloody taste
gritted teeth, each breath a splinter
this cut will not heal
it will only fester and bleed
till we refuse to feel
and watch a want become a need
---
Papercuts all over my hands.
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