I have painted the lines
of your body across the sky.
Mixed stains on mental palettes
to match the unnamed tone
of the skin behind your knee.
Imagined the crease
at the corner of your mouth
contorted by pleasure,
then laughter,
then pain.
I’ve composed the whirwind
of your orgasms,
ethereal breath,
the sound of your wet cunt
echoes around my tiled mind.
Cries, like a flock of birds
taking flight into haunted air.
Living so vibrantly in his mind,
you’ve become real in mine.
And I’m unsure whether to
thank you or curse you.
Had he never known you,
he would not be the man
I can’t have now.
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