Thursday, September 29, 2011

I do not like to wash my hands
I want to keep your smell on them forever
I want to hold my face still
and smell the sweat and the pain and the food
I want to remember every moment of that day again
I want to keep everything I touched close and safe
no matter how many germs find their way to me.
I want to smell your skin
and every grain of grass I touched
I want to remember the pop that I spilled
and the anger and happiness I felt.
I want to feel my hunger
and never smell the scent of soap
I want to wind every clock and polish every metal
I want to be part of what I feel
I never want to feel the difference.

I do not like to wash my hands.

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