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Talk Dirty

I string words like beads
onto threads of ideas
and tie them to
the tip of my tongue.
I want to pull them out
one by one,
drop them in your ear
when your lips
are pressed against
the soft spot
on my neck
that makes me sigh,

but there is a moment
between the rise and fall
of our bodies
when flesh becomes a
boundary to be broken
and desire ceases
to be ethereal
and words feel plastic
and small and clumsy 
and break against my teeth.
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