Jun 2012
His fingers trace my skin.
The white patterns
permanently
fashioned in.
Uneasy breathing.
The pang of curiosity
fills the room.
I silently plead him not to.
He asks anyway.
The white patterns
permanently
fashioned in.
Uneasy breathing.
The pang of curiosity
fills the room.
I silently plead him not to.
He asks anyway.
Written by
Renee Warth
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