Tangled

We sat close,
and I thought
I might die
if you didn’t touch me,

but then your hands
were on my face
and pulling me
beneath you,
your skin hot,
your lips hotter.
I can’t remember
what happened next
because I thought
I might die
if you stopped touching me,

and you didn’t,
not for fourteen days.
Your skin was always
near mine,
warm and
tan and
naked.
Your fingers
always
in my hair,
twirling,
tugging,
turning me
inside out.

You said
you never forgot
about me,
not for a minute.
Such true words.
We can never forget,
can we?
We are tangled,

lives like limbs,
and you drown
as I drown.
We can’t mend
when our pieces
live inside
each other.

~Patience

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