When you were inside me,
You left some words behind.
Or maybe you when you traced your fingers over my body—
Those hands that built a brewery had so many stories—
So it's understandable that a few of them stayed here.
I've tried to scrape them off, scrub them away, exorcise them out of my body—
But they are persistent little buggers.
So I'd like to return them, please.
As soon as fucking possible.