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scabs
12:23 am / 22.03.04

do you remember when my hair was

short

and choppy and red.

and

we sat under the pole of the lodge

and when you kissed me

you left your tongue in my mouth

a little longer than you knew i liked.

and while we talked.

i picked at your scabs

making you bleed all down your

legs.

and the blood dried in your hair.

do you remember the smell of chlorine

and the look of the water leaning left and right

distorting the lights at the bottom of the pool.

do you remember the sound of a wet bathing suit slapping the side concrete

and

first the feeling of embarassment

the the feeling of comfort to know

i am as vulnerable as you.

I slept like a child that night

with my toes peeking out of my sleeping bag

and a clump of grass that i pulled from the hill.

it was tucked safely into my pillow.

we snored at breakfast for

we knew the eggs were uncooked.

and the blood washed off in the pool

but the misquitoes bit again.

and i picked the scabs

after you scratched them to existance

i still havent seen if you have the scars.

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