that look that peels away your skin (you know the one)

it spreads cold fingers down her legs

raises bumps along her skin

that you said was milky smooth

almost too much to touch

but did so anyway

with your eyes


 

the feeling of them on her

doesn’t rinse off in the shower

nor after a week

but lingers

and whispers

and reminds

that to you she is only meat

 
This poem is about: 
Me

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