12.15 The Regular
This stretch of fabric
straining pull
of eyes to skin marked
ink peeks and I sneak glances
taking chances while your eye
wanders back again
computer screen latches
face to glass you bend
shirt extends and ends
strip of skin and one line
drawing in deep
I creep a look
that spine a book
and I curating a museum
hooked on nuance
I steal from you at no cost
except the growing notion
that this ocean separating
our two bodies might not be
quite as deep now
as comfort might allow.
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