skin is soft against mine
a first love,
a first kiss i stole from you
not knowing if you wanted it to be taken.
but our love was like milk.
our love is milk.
expiration date was printed
across foreheads, behind fences
underneath smiles, and in between eyelashes.
walk me home in the snow
take my hand in the cold
nothing could touch this.
nothing is going to compare,
i have concluded
that i will never find this again,
never find you again.
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writings from a sore hand
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