the night was warm and sticky as we trapped it in the spaces between ourselves and the taste of your red wine blood stained lips and our mouths that melt together when we kiss I breathed in, collecting your scent in the depths of my lungs tracing my fingertips ever so lightly along the scars that cut canyons across your chest and bound you up in thin red ribbons trying to detect some sense of fear in you of vulnerability, imperfection accidentally and clumsily I uncovered your secrets and forgot them just as easily while in the surfaces of scar tissue, the places devoid of sensations I felt the only part of you that I could never touch although I had tried to breathe the life back into you but did you know that the outer layer of all our skin is dead? have you ever thought that maybe all we’re doing is somehow trying to touch dead things?