it's the way
your hands slide over me
like oil slick
like
grease

i pull away
unconsciously
and we never
talk about it
because
what's left to say?

we only
really
talk
when we're in bed
in
darkness

when we think
the other person
is
asleep

i wish
there was a way
to tell you
that i know
your hands
are clean

that i know
past betrayals
are not
yours


but

instead

i reach over
for
the light

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