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I’ve learned to overvalue flesh. I’ve planted my conscious thoughts on how thick your lips will feel gracing mine, or how strongly I can caress your back to show you I have some aptitude for strength. It’s dangerous, and I am well aware. But I keep sitting on the porch steps wondering how you step into the shower; do you still bat your eyes and look behind you seductively? I can’t pass through a day of work without thinking of my ironic it is that my clothed body is too revealing, and my nakedness, a truth in your embrace.

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