nostalgia

I flash back
to those hands
roaming my body
your mouth
in places no boy
has gone before
that moment
when kissing you
finally felt as good
as I imagined
and that look
in your eyes
right before
you touched me
like you never
wanted
to stop

I play them on repeat.
Let them linger.
These fragments of desire
that still have me blushing
and forgetting the wreckage
from which they sprung

– when nostalgia is a motherfucker

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