
this is torture.
my fingers are itching to reach
beneath your skin.
it turns me on, but i can’t tell you.
you see it on my face, in my eyes.
i want to explore the map of your body.
i want to learn your anatomy.
when we die, art lives through our writing.

this is torture.
my fingers are itching to reach
beneath your skin.
it turns me on, but i can’t tell you.
you see it on my face, in my eyes.
i want to explore the map of your body.
i want to learn your anatomy.
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