life as i choose to remember it

your fingertips sign my everything
(which is yours,
although you will never claim it).

you smile and i feel the deep hard flame
of my ticking neurons and neuroses;
but more importantly the flush of my skin,
burning to be yours.

each time you come over i fingerpaint you -
a different tone, a different colour,
and still I am left with only an impression.

(like:
the ghosts in my house all wear your perfume,
blushing as i do in dreams.)

i press these notions unsurely between my palms.
they roll under my fingers like a bloated balloon,
blown up with laughter and kissy-kiss noises:
the rubber squeaks under my careless touch.

we both erode a little when we touch
but i cherish the loss.

.

(like:
even when we're dead,
your skeleton will look happier
than mine)

The End

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