humid air stuck to my skin like how my feet stuck to your floor.
the brooms in my brain swept my room for you,
yet you cleaned yourself thin.
now your fresh hair and a brand new pair of shorts i've never seen before
buried your skin while my skin just buried you within.
my glasses just gleamed
with salty smudges i couldn't wipe clean
as i ride this northerly beam
of winds away.
fear is just an illusion of what is real.
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