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touch tasting.
testing skin patches of eachother
slowly grasping earnest bits of
hair tickling rolls and tufts
of skin and muscle lurching
echoed finger tips slipping
in uncovered directions inward
and outward, moisting, referring
to neighbors, lips stretching
across chins, teeth on necks,
on shoulders, on ears, head
in hand running through on
hair in between legs down backs
scratching and pulling arches
from great nations formed in
secret groaning unsilence,
tongues on chests and bellies
around thighs, unevenly overt,
unafraid, tasting sweeat, old
and new, from the track and from
now, the scent of learning,
smiling and laughing, slow
words mouthed in silence wetting
everything.
but you found another.
and as much as wanting i was
backwards in speaking and thinking,
old and described by monogamy's
definitions,
and in sadness without having a taste of what could have been love.
smelling it was my mistake.
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