Toss Me Under

fuck

can’t I just get you to

pinch the tips of my hair and

tap your fingertips against my braces and

scratch along the insides of my wrists and

tell me I’m lovely and

kiss me through the darkness and

unravel me

and don’t even let me speak because

I’m sick of hearing my own voice

 

the way it felt in Arizona in June, floating face up in the pool, when all the colors blended into light blue and it all felt right, and easy, and breathing wasn’t a chore and the chlorine turned my hair the same shade as the water and it all felt right, and I was a part of everything —

why can’t I float like that

just beneath the surface of your skin

meet you there and

kiss us congruent

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