men dragging their lies
up and down
my legs
kissing me with strangers lips,
kissing me with the lips of their lovers
leaving me a delicious unfinished meal.
I had been a home for the wounded,
in between battles,
waiting for their next wife,
their previous lover
to love them again.
I had become a
drawer
of unwritten love letters,
just blank pieces of paper
empty pieces of hearts.
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