You know about these things, don’t you, Norah?

This is where I keep you

freezing-cold water on hot skin
(because we both know it feels like home to be voluntarily underwater, pretending to be sirens)
falling on grass (soft grounds) and getting back up, aching
and smelling of rain and spring and earth
windburnt lips on windburnt lips
both pain and
the urgent awareness of strange flesh and skin
the rush of not knowing where the next contact will land, eyes closed
the strength of temperature, texture
of secrets, or maybe even inconsequential details
but that doesn't matter because they are whispers and they are mine
and it is breath on my neck and yes, I will,
I will keep that a secret
remember how the sun used to seep into your room even when the windows were closed, Norah?
your bed is no longer there, but the windows are
now they are open and light invades every corner
and I often find you there
telling stories and protecting your eyes from the sunlight with your hands
laughing for free
as long as I have these hands and legs and eyes and lips and tongue
you will be here
and everywhere

Now I want you to run, Norah
run run run

don't stop until you get

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