my shoulders ache to curl inwards
to press into the hollows
where your chest meets your shoulders
my mind can handle the vast space,
but my body cannot.
i yearn to feel palm on palm,
to watch a chest rise and fall.
to wake up and look in the mirror
and see the red spot on my neck where
your chin rubbed my skin raw
i want to trace the indents of sheets on skin,
warm and pink, folded into you.
now, i understand why women wake up in stranger's beds.
it is nice to pretend it means something.
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