On the tip of your tongue, lashing back and forth and flailing all around in the storm of your words.
In your mother’s brain, her skin and decisions – the nightgown soft, folded and tucked in the dresser.
The taste of you lingering in my mouth – the ghost of your kiss. Of your red tongue.
Our shadows on the wall, distorted into something even more beautiful than us ourselves.
Like a nail in my shoe, pushed through the rubber, glue and cloth, pinching the curve of my heel.
The scars on my fingers – how they were always meant to be there.
***
Title by: Anonymous
Story by: Jeremy
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