by Kimberly Ang

The shoulder,

where the clavicle meets the acronmion, the curved edges of a silhouette.

Your shoulder,

is like an Indian summer amidst the November rain. For my weary heart and burdened soul, plastering the gaping hole in my chest, as emotion and truth threaten to spill out. And for that moment I’ll wear my heart on my sleeve. For that moment we will feel it deep within us, but never saying a word. This is where our bodies intersect, where the line between understanding and silence meet.

Could I have a moment with you?

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