much like a child,
you show your teeth so often,
when i'd rather you love me
like an animal:
ravaged and licked clean.
you're what i always return to,
a back-pocket sentiment,
keeping your paws behind me
and on me,
like a firm grasp of my thigh,
or a brush against my ear,
a softness in electric blues,
and i'm seeing reds and
artificial oranges
to color the hair around your foot,
clasped so tightly in my hands.
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