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Natalie Nov 2019
Cautious and steady, yet dangerous
With only the touch of her hands.
Laboring, never pretty.
Always gentle.
Calloused from the weight of
Her home,
Her sacrifice.
Her hands, always giving.

Lather, rinse, repeat:
Each time an opportunity to start again.
The soft curve
Cutting through my pain.
Strong and firm, yet merciful.
Comforting, never automatic.
My body’s lullaby.
Her hands, always giving.
Natalie Nov 2019
I mprints
N ever to be discovered.
V oiceless.
I nflicted by
S elfishness and
I nhibition.
B ut is it my fault?
L ove makes me feel like I don’t, like I can’t
E xist.

— The End —