I want to shave
your legs, run the blade
over the muscle in your calves.
Together in the tub, nick the flesh
around your ankles, slit your pale skin
just to watch blood pool
at our feet.
Later, when we're dry,
kiss the ridges of your shins, move my lips
around the razor burn, the Band-Aids,
remember the metallic taste
of shaving cream, blood, water
trying to wash it all away.
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