More Than Our Skin

I can still hear her in the dark, breath and heartbeat as soft thunder from a distant storm, a raw memory of perfume and hair, the tiny yet infinite harbor pulsing between her thighs  that I'm still somewhere enfolded in. Out of the body, into the ether, to make it more than matter, more than just our skin. And that's when I trace places where I swear I see names as she still sleeps spooned

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