Dirty

We’ve got our hands
down deep in it,
and I am swallowing
dirt.

I want to be
this slight obscuring mist
that breathes us in
green
and falls
over all our endearing,
exquisite sinfulness.

Don’t worry
I’ve forgotten
what’s real.
He’s gone a bit
(a)stray.

But on my knees,
hands in my hair,
he says the words.
And those words
are mine.

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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