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Fingertips spelled trysts on my inner thigh-
My Paramour,
and I tried to catch each secret letter
but it
is the freckle, the one above his eye,
where my mind tends to linger.
There is something delicate about sun-kissed lovers.
A promise,
of sorts, that maybe someday,
you could both walk in the morning
light together.
So between our heavily happy sighs,
and
through my wild, humid hair -
I pass that quick flash of a smile,
agreeing to meet again.
17 mosquito bites as blemishes of
evidence,
I tiptoe back into my sleeping house,
careful to
make my way around the worn, hardwood floors.
My pulse beats
out curse words down to the stairs,
though, my heart is rather
fond of these obstructions -
despite my shaking hands.
As I pull back the sheets,
one fleeting moment of panic- How must I smell?
Like sticky, midnight,
summer sex and a hint of an unnamed lover?
Yet my mind hugs my guilt, warmly;
turning all those anxieties
into a sweetly hummed lullaby.
I spread myself out upon the cold and empty bed.
Contently,
I reside alone.
My moonlit room abruptly shifts my focus -
Staring up at me
two, tiny, tan lines on my ring finger:
My
manumission.
and I smile
at my collection of affairs
allowing each of them to pursue-
to win-
to dream-
and to believe the Morse code is
dangerous.
This electric shard of lightening is merely an illusion
it comes quick
and it goes by fast
It is not their
fault,
as they do not know-
that if they had all of
me,
they would not desire me anymore.
Thus, I am inclined to practice magic.