(no name)

7 Jun

One night-

I told him about the scar underneath my chin:

“I fell when I was a baby, down some stairs.”

Tipping my chin to the ceiling,

I pointed, with an index finger, to the ugly mark.

Leaning in to look, he then told me about callouses

On the tips of his fingers, from when he played

The strings on his guitar.

I could tell he loved it, the music he said was

“Not very good.” I knew better.

I felt them, exactly where he said they’d be

And suddenly wanted to know the whole hand, too.

It was new, he and I, and our surfaces-

Something not yet explored.

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