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I wanted her to love me the way she loved herself.
To depth-
  with three long fingers.
To breadth-
   with fine words and a strong tongue.
I wanted her to worship me beneath sweet smelling sheets.
I wanted to be her image.
I wanted us to be Narcissus
enthralled by our changing faces.
I wanted to share tears and blood and come.
But she was never mine.
I was never in her eye.
         She would never love me
because she did not see me.
Posted 03/11/15
Based on the memory of a devastating crush I had when I was 18 on a 35 year old barista. She had the loveliest armpit hair I've ever seen.
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