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Gee

Kafra’s tomb is your torso
under Musa’s dark script  
tongue touches  
lighter than    
insect-swept wrists  
curl grazing thigh  
thrush sigh on the night  
brushes ear with their tip  
soft V and fine fold  
whiskers at split  
there are garnets to taste  
pink bamboo for soak  
ripe kiwi for kiss    
and nothing to waste
Written by katydidnot
Published | Edited 22nd Nov 2019
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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