Together

Love always keeps things dirty,

the way grime grows between touches,

between fingertips that can barely reach out to each other anymore.

There was a time when I remembered how it felt,

remembered what it was like to feel hands

touching the hair on my chest

and nails down my back

and lips that part

to feel my own against hers.

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About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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