whispered against my skin.
Tell me about those lips
that carried them.
Tell me about these dreams
etched on your temples.
Tell me about those years
washing them away.
Tell me about these lines on your palm.
Tell me so I could remember.
No, I am not Sisyphus
carrying the dream of forever on my back.
I just want you to
tell me about these fingers,
so close and touching mine
so I could forget where I begin
and you end.
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