I'll move again when evening kisses the dusk skyline, when my frame gives way to the freight trains roaring on the breeze. I'll smile that same smile when my nails dig into your shoulder blades, pulling at your hair and all those words you hide. Do you write of me on napkins and scrap paper? Just like I do you? No. I think I'm just there at all the right times, willing to dissolve into the sheets on your bed or the folds of your shirt.
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