That you will not pick up on the image of you I have scratched into my finger.
All bodies are perfect attempts at humanity, but I know yours
Was so much more painful to forge.
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I could never talk clearly about attraction anyway.
I want to unironically call you a snowflake,
And maybe if I reduce you to an unmeltable marvel
This will give me permission to cradle you in my palms
To learn the microclimates that formed you,
Just as I want you to learn my unironic mother hands.