Your hands trace paths across my thigh
Each finger marking slightly raised bumps
A mountain pass
you can cross
with no eyes
only your tongue
Your eyes are fixed on my lips
“We should do this again sometime “
You know me so well, I wear your skin under mine?
Warm breath licks across my face
like a gentle monsoon breeze
“I haven’t found the fastest route “
is your sweater draped
on a dusty bench
with only the vestiges
of your scent remaining.
My belly was swollen with the anticipation
of isolation –
curled deep in this pit of sorrow
is your son born of fear and pain?
Fear that this seed would take root
and plant an extension
of your being inside me
Pain because I knew
I had lost you to something else;
that before her,
we had been alone
and that afterward,
I was singularly so.
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