stories on skin

so dark
was it morning or night
tangled up in sheets
it suddenly didn’t matter
he pressed forward
she was swallowed in warmth
their best work was done here
in the murky time
the pitchest black dawn
imprinting their stories
on skin
plot twists
and rhymes
spelled out with such flourish
new chapters and verses
discovered
with each brush of skin
slipping through the covers
in and out of sleep
good night, good morning

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