100 poems for Hannah, 32/100

Fingers have this habit

Of creeping where they shouldnt

Starlight inhibitions

Creep up black and blue spines

They kiss ribs and bellys and lips

They play scars to the tune of two words

I’m sorry

But if scars were a currency

Or bruises a merit

The pair of them could walk the nights together

Comfortable

Stars strung along behind them

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