The skin on my shoulder feels like a snake
crawling along the dirt and through the heat to find that last drop of water-
but while the skin on my stomach rolls under your fingertips,
you feel like the sun.

it’s not raining but we’re all getting wet,
I think there’s a thunderstorm knocking on the window.
Your hands are shaking but your fingers don’t,
Across the country I can still smell your skin.

You don’t look like yourself,
you don’t look like me,
but then again reflections don’t talk back when they’re cracked-
before the mirror and I had the greatest conversations all at your expense.

Every beach no matter the coast or the ocean beating at the tips with white caps and swords
has the same backdrop of buildings in pastels and windows.
No matter when you sit we both know your eyes are still going to remind you that
everything becomes the same when you give up.

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