creeping along my hairline in
beads of sweat and in
my eyes, in the corners he
urges along tears, rides them,

painting

down


my




cheeks,



then onto my neck,
kissing my collar bone
and, in passing,
tickles the freckles
between my
*******.

the little that's left of him fingers into
streams on my belly that has
been hungry for him -



- he knows.