The skin in the hallow between your collarbones and your neck
The ecotone between your apartment and the world outside where you pressed me against the wall to kiss me
The edge of evening falling in your kitchen as we cooked dinner
I want to touch these places of yours with the softest calloused tips of my fingers
And bite the curve between your back and your ass until it bruises
I miss these spaces where you are not quite one thing or another
Where we exist just outside of everyone else
Are we on our way to becoming?
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