Dire

If

I

ever

smell

love

settling

on

my

skin

I

sit in

the corner

and

write

bad poetry

by way

of

penance.

But

not

before

I have

tried

scrubbing it off my skin

Telling

my body

it

has

too much

earth and hurt

and flesh

and ache

and disquiet

in

it

for this.

 

 

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