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I’ve been told that I gotta open my mouth
when I want to open my eyes wider
like when I’m putting on Mabeline mascara or dark brown eye liner.
But I get the best picture of you only when my occipital lobe
projects scenes of you taking off my clothes
and my velvet curtain eyelids are “Sorry, come again soon” closed.

The tip of my tongue tastes the need to scream for help
‘cause it’s trying not to drown from all this sweat running through my mouth.
Your body makes
my jaw ache.
Like the way I clench my teeth whenever I’m asleep.
I get lost between desires and dreams
of me falling into your hands
like fruit fall off trees.

You are the reason I go to bed so early into the night.
I watch previews of you as my hands translate to sign language what’s on my mind.
At the closing credits, I rewind.

I’m vulgar, you’re violent.
The four walls around us are the only things silent.
My neck gets the kind of scars only fingerprints could produce
You get to experience everything Heaven already knew.

We explode a thousand ways
-sideways-
nails pinch each other’s flesh.
Then to my chagrin, I wake up at my desk..

with a new poem to write.

Britta B.

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