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Sleep Over Confessions The fresh crushed laundry-herb smell of your home woke the frank and full friendship of girls who had cobbled a sisterlove because we had only brothers. Tide lavender Bounce helped grow a gentle scab, a thin film, but convincing. Inside jokes and bald gossip coaxed me to air the wound but try to not further the infection. The raisin brandy brought from your Catholic mission, meant to warm cold Russian Churches, wrenched secrets and soothed me towards honesty. I spilled truth up to you, steam from a sizzling pan--dunked. I ticked off the heat of fear, wanting to gulp back the gray cloud that stilled your smile, wanting to pretend we were ripe with prom dresses and new bodies. Needing it to be fine to live in the world we had made much promise to. In the end, I wanted you know how I took his money at the cost of my pride. A quiet hot, hope- please hate the boy who played mean with me. Please forgive how I forgot who I wanted to be. It was a truth when no dare had been asked but you licked my sore soul with sweet reassurance. |
Additional Notes:
A poem for Elle.
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