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Sometimes,
when you are sleeping,
I write words on your back.

I write them with a fingernail:
invisible, indelible,
only I know that they're there.

If I've been a bitch (as I often am),
they might be an apology
full of Hallmark Card sweetness.

Or, maybe, an incantation to lust,
wanton and demanding, pressed
deep enough to wake, when I need you.

Mostly though, they are meaningless words,
Just because it pleases me to write myself
Into the page of your skin.

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