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Jun 2015
the flowery, transparent lace scoping up from
behind me and ending at my waist. when he
pushes his hand and cups the skin, i feel
emptier than i was after the dinner i had,
mounds of rice and bean scoops as your
forehead pressed against the mesa and
you said you loved her. at midnight,
the blue bathroom tile bruises my forehead
and i kiss it, lips against mold and mildew.
the next morning, you say i am not *****
and i mumble yes, pinching milk-soaked
cornflakes from my cereal bowl between
my fingertips and placing them on my tongue.
Lake
Written by
Lake  new england
(new england)   
684
   Day Wing, ---, ryn and Medhina Khanal
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