BENEATH
- Janna Liggan
- Aug 24, 2016
- 1 min read
Even the lines in my neck can trace the outline of his lips beneath his beard. No one else knows so exactly how they are shaped. Especially in a smile. Because no one else has been touched by them.
Two earthworms of soft skin writhe in unison for my stuttered shiver. Their dance leaves coffee and silence rubies and leather as a bent wet halo on my now damp skin.
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