He isn't it-
He wont kiss your swollen belly and gently trace the stretchmarks with his eyelashes
He wont run with you out of the fire escape and help you find your junkie brother in Byzantine just off Crenshaw
He doesn't lift an eyelid when you have to take nameless men into your bedroom for foodstamps
He doesn't dream thirsty past his corner
You know that,
He would kill you in a hot Arizona minute
For his red paisley bandana
Yet you still kiss his 3 tattoed teardrops
Everytime you make love
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