because you never really know how you look when you walk away.
Your head: drawn forward in refuge or shame
Your hands: wringing a prayer that's incomplete
Your hips: deprived of a thrust you may never feel again.
Your shoulders: carrying the burden of defeat
For me, I know that secret record has remained-
In my wrists: gripped by yearning
On my hip: kissed with prospect
In my mouth: tasted by someone I wish were true
And it's all stayed so clear in my memory-
For once again it's you.
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