Twenty-five to Ten
The History of a Fire Escape"only twenty-five to ten,
we still have plenty of time"
you tell me with a smile and
immediately,
i find myself falling for the white
stains of you teeth
and the smell of your
morning breath
the shape of how your body
sinks in mine
how your fingers
lace through mine
the simple way your
skin unravel like fresh oranges
and how our atoms intertwine
to create who we are
"let's taste the butterflies before
they die too in-love"
and i nod,
wrapping my arms
around your waist
"only twenty-five to ten,
we still have plenty of time"
i tell you, pressing stardust—
all of which is too sweet—in the
dents of your skin
"only twenty-five to ten,
we still have plenty of time"
you repeat,
holding our bodies together
with a single strand of nectar
"only twenty-five to ten,
we still have plenty of time"
(s.h)
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