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Mar 2012
I remember the kiss and my reddened
body turned on your mattress, a slip of
rubber, a small snap and your limber hands
dried in salt
were upon my thighs
had I really let you have it on the floor of my downstairs bathroom
where I could see the dirt beneath
the porcelain toilet, my shoulder blades
puncturing my skin, so thin,
rolled across the tile?

Here I was again, letting the innocent daylight
spill across my belly, pleading
instead I let you polish your buckle
Me
grunting, you whispered
I love you,
to make amends in
perhaps a moment of regret,  maybe
you realized something or in this lapse
you thought it necessary to reassure  me
because that
after-all
would be logical
(c) Brooke Otto
brooke
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