Young

I am almost scared to breathe you, so new so fresh so hot on the tip of my tongue, so southern comfort for wet nights. I wish I could talk right around you but I’m surrounded by this glass on my teeth; I laid it out over time to punish for the way you flash your own at me. But more about you; the way your skin was so matte and how you can curl up against my clavicle anytime, the way you hear the hushes and I can save you. The vanity of wine and hands and when the sun goes to sleep is not lost on me anymore. I still have too much to learn before I deserve you.

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