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Skin and Inside


I am rubbing my nose a lot this morning

your smell is on my fingers
your soap and skin and inside
is the musky memory of being
wasted and basted in you,
realizing that all these years
my mouth has been a cup

waiting for the drip
of your tongue.

This entry was posted on Thursday, May 31st, 2001, 12:00 am and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.

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