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Touch me.
It’s been a while since
someone got through.
Tell me a sentence
that you truly mean,
that you can guarantee
you’ll still mean
a year from now.
Sing me a song
with a melody you have to
cut something of yourself
open before you can
have the courage
to sing it.
Tell me a truth.
Hold it against the light.
Let me see the back
of it through the front,
and everything
in between.
I want to watch how
something that’s
important to you,
bleeds.
Don’t get yourself hurt
on account of me, but
feel an earnest feeling
in honor of me.

Affect me.
Make me feel like getting up.
Make it real.
Move me like
there’s something
that doesn’t belong
where it is,
that needs to be shifted
and make me restless
until I’ve shifted it.
Stir my blood.
Make me blush.
Make this blizzard relevant.
Don’t hurry on
with your collar
up to your ears
with no more than
a passing glance.
An entire crew stepped
their boots all over
the dying embers
of my hearth,
grinding it down
shapeless
into the snow
near-fatally frostbitten
with expression
left unspoken
through three seasons
and my heartbeat is
slowing down
to a crawl.
I need to borrow
some warmth from somewhere.
That’s why
I need you to touch me.
.

mimes1
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“Frozen Hearts” by photographer Furka Ishchuk-Paltseva
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