And she sat tracing his scars as if she needed to know them like the back of her hand
The map of cruel art someone had laid there, she was tracing as if it were a path to his heart
beauty to a different soul's eyes,
and she wonders why he thinks so poorly of them
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YOU ARE READING
Intimacy is poetry
PoetryA collection of my not edited or thought-through at-all poetry
Scars
And she sat tracing his scars as if she needed to know them like the back of her hand
The map of cruel art someone had laid there, she was tracing as if it were a path to his heart
beauty to a different soul's eyes,
and she wonders why he thinks so poorly of them