In the crook of my
neck right above
the collarbones
where women dab their perfume
and lovers' kisses are placed
lies a spot
where the skin is
soft
fragile
(so easily bruised)
and if I sat there quietly,
you would be able to
see the vein
beating
pulsing
(delicately just so)
or perhaps you'll feel it
accelerate beneath
the brush of fingertips
in a wave of
tingling
rushing
(oh).
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