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Salted skin - it tastes like
the history of the human race.
Insistent as a hungry dog.
Fragile. Tied to complexities it
hurts to remember.
Moving like a machine made of water,
and trying to expand beyond its bounds.
I will wrap around you, if you let me;
if my mouth on your salt
helps to forget and doesn't
create new myths.
Full enough of old myths,
sodden and stretched
with bared teeth and always an empty belly:

Scratch your story in.

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