can’t help

in debt & on deck,
these fingers can’t stop.

she gives out hip checks:
her knuckles crack & pop

like my left ankle in the morning
when I stretch & bend.

she kisses without warning.
I can’t wait for us to begin.

I kiss slowly; she flinches;
we’re so lowly; we press those inches.

we lie, we writhe, we tithe
the hell out of each other,
we can’t help but stay undercover.

so yes
obviously I miss her as a lover.
it’s hard being something more like a brother.
these post-her years have never been rougher.

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