If your skin and my skin
Melted when they touched,
We'd become a bloody mess
Of organs and entrails
And an earlier lunch,
Our smaller moles
Would merge to larger moles,
Our fingernails combine
Partly painted,
Our hearts fall into a singular beat,
Livers lovingly sliding together,
The whites of our eyes like
Poached eggs joining in the pan,
A molten mess on our bed
We'd wonder as one
What the f uck
We have become.
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