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Petite Parcel
Poems
Aug 2015
A Little Mismatched
My fingers are electric
when I touch them to your skin.
It's as though we're magnetic.
Now that doesn't make sense,
but neither do we.
I scrawl these words
across your chest.
I hope that they burn
and make you confess.
We are a funny fit
-does it make you want to run for it?
Written by
Petite Parcel
England
(England)
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