I breathe seven whispers across your skin. The first one rests like a prayer against your collarbone, tucked safely within its curve. The second one travels along your brow bone, soft, like a sliver of thread, and the third one follows and wraps its way around your neck. The fourth one we don't speak of, its bitter sting making a whip along your shoulder; forgive me, forgive me. The fifth one you whisper back to me, I press it to your mouth and you catch it with your tongue. The sixth one is printed on your palm, tattoo'd against its ridged lines. The seventh one you never hear. The whisper stays trapped between my teeth for years.

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