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The Face You Would Wear

It is never the make up,
Or the hair that you’ve spent hours on,
In the service of spontaneity,
It’s not the strength in your arms,
As I imagine, in hungry moments,
Wrapped around me,
It’s the intelligent light in your eyes,
A hunger that knows when to curtsey but wants to be let out,
Shivering at how the air would feel,
If it touched hungry skin,
That’s what I look for in you,
The promise that, if I touch you, taste you in the right way,
I could hear you speak in tongues,
Make fists with the sheets,
See the Kali come to play,
Make her wear your face,
As you would wear mine

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