Between dreams of textured landscapes,
I saw an extreme close-up of your skin cells.
No matter what I do, I can't seem to get the taste of you out of my mouth.

Stained as we are,
with matching sets of scars,
I am ashamed of the constant reminder.
No matter how many beds I climb into, I'll always be two steps behind her.

She was once pristine,
with a soul just as clean.
Next to it, mine was a tattered disgrace.

I'll dream again of mountains of skin,
and all the rest of what can't be erased.