seriously
intimacy is not the slice of skin that glances across mine
or the scent of your body inside my linen, as nice as that might be
its this inside
view, of my regrets, my hurts, my hunger yet
my child bouncing around with impatience
my old woman hobbling like a taxi bound nowhere at all
my right here, right now, asking you to
just look
deep
and be still validated as worthwhile
by what you see
on this inside
where I see your
heart too
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