she licks her wound in
small, round, clockwise
concentric circles
the scabs have dried into
cold volcanic surfaces
rugged, rusty, ribbed and rough
a river hardening
in summer, burnt frozen
in place where lakes turn into mud
earnestly, she traces every nook
crevice, flesh on hardened flesh
wet moist tongue flicking on air-dried crust
as if making out a letter
or tracing out a line or a quote
to make sense from all this french kissing
3:35 PM
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