What we feel is what we know.

It is delicate, fragile.

Punctured and bruised.

Touched and healed.

What we feel is what we know.

And every time, the goosebumps grow,

alive the follicles become, awake and intense.

And I love you, like skin.

I love you because you have grown.

And you have grown to love.

I know this love. I love this love.

You have grown to love...

your love is like skin.



Guide that inspired this poem: 


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