Fifty-three: Someone

I like it when I can pretend that
my hands are not my hands but
someone else’s. Someone else’s
hands that somehow know the
way. You know, I used to be
unchartered, often heavy in
clumsy embraces and my skin
would singe my lovers but that
only made them burn more. Now
I am cool. I am horizontal waters
yawning. bored of sailors and
their relentless desires to ride
every ocean. I have maps on
my body now, pale puzzle pieces
of hope to shine someone home.

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Published by

Alexia

I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

2 thoughts on “Fifty-three: Someone”

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