The Curves They Remember
I trace the soft contours of your memory—
with my trembling fingers—
knowing they will catch on edges,
be cut,
and bleed—again—
and yet—
they yearn to feel the curves
they once traced before.
with my trembling fingers—
knowing they will catch on edges,
be cut,
and bleed—again—
and yet—
they yearn to feel the curves
they once traced before.
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