when i look down i see a small, faint bruise the size of a fingertip on my right breast. i smile when i see it, a visible reminder of a excited fumbling hands on skin that was more delicate than either of us thought. it never hurt. now, i want to kiss it, to touch the memory with my lips and make real again.
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The bruise didn’t come from Heather and you on the swanky new couch did it? Just kidding, yesterday I saw too many episodes of “Coupling” on BBC America and there was an underlying theme of lesbian sex.
i heard my name!