shoulder kisses are raindrop projections on the slightness of my body. your touch is human but tinged with grief, foreign and gentle. if our hands were to meet, where would i place my fingers? quickening. anxious. fickle, but it is not your bones i love quite yet. their immaculate hollowness is unknown to me. the conflict of collapse is imminent, the cavalry of desperate impulse burning bridges that lie unexplored, wavering in ambient shadows beyond the fires of loss’s vagabonds. who can tell now if i’ll regret this? i just want to feel your shoulder kisses scamper across my collarbones, edging forward and smudging the decay of his touch that leaks from beneath my skin.