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in your hotel room

You let your fingers intertwine in my hair and I pretend not to notice how close your lips are from mine. I refuse to look up, scared you might notice my shaking hands. I feel your hesitation as your palm touches my cheeks and I start to count my breaths. I play it out in my head, I’m scared you’re so close you can taste it. I know you like to call me a friend, but what do you call me when it’s just us two?
You say, “Look at me,”
I say “I don’t want to.”
I’m scared of what your lips and fingertips will make of me.

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