Handwritten Pages #21 Read Me

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Fumbling in the darkness you believe you can read the lovers’ braille of gooseflesh on my arms. Except you stutter like a toddler, stuck sucking simple words found in my nipples; repetitively mouthing without nuance or inflection, nor grasping the meaning of what you read. I hold the shaft of the pen you want to write our history with, squeeze the ink dry. You’ll read my note on the table in the morning.

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