cowgirl, sing yourself to sleep.

lately, strangely, i've been very aware of my hands.

and at night i find them weaving through my own hair, caressing my own skin. petting myself, cooing myself. it makes me sad, sad in a triumphant way. the only way you could interrupt my safety would be to cut off my own fingers, and i would still find a way to rub my cheek against my shoulder, enjoy the touch of love, my own love.

cowgirl, sing yourself to sleep.

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