Did you count how many kisses I gave,
planted like clumsy hands in wet mud,
eager to shape them before rains leave?
How many did I hold behind my lips,
inside the chest tongue calls home,
afraid to spend the night over your ear,
as if swallowing the cheer in your eye
before it reaves the soft between us,
tears everything into fluid forgetting,
before we discover the taste for blood,
and call carnivores to roam our flesh.
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