she and i.
not friends.
lovers of the same you.
you brought her first.
and me at her insistence.
in different ways
you walk over each of us.
over and over.
and yet i am
a more intimate part
of your day
your adventures
of you
than her.
I who you slather.
with bits of you,
with your muck
Your slime
Your grime.
she who gets monosyllables
and silence by day.
separate rooms by night.
who said there were
no perks of being a doormat?
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