a poem

unititled

Listening to this song makes
me question whether your
eyes should be quick or not.
Your hand on my throat is
almost as nasty as what your
other hand is doing. I am alone
in a room of letters, my thighs
hold me behind a closed door to
a hallway where you are standing,
singing. Damn thighs. Damn skin.
Damn song. If you leave me I will
tell myself I never loved you anyway.

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