2003-08-22 / 2:55 p.m.

My palms are raw from grasping grappling with conflicting images green leaves embedded in the wall you shuddering against me and our fingers laced down a cold hallway. This could be too much if you stopped smiling at me, if your hands were colder, if I had a choice to remove my body from this sterility without leaving the rest of me anchored so firmly to you.

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