Your Mark.

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My covers surrender to you, it doesn’t take force or convincing, they just do. Before you come over I wash them in the hopes that they change their ways, but they welcome you with open arms. Their smell entangles with yours and as much as I hope they overpower you, they can’t. They take you on with permanence and I find myself readying for work not able to escape you. You imprint yourself on me, rather it be my shirt or my hair or my arms, you do. All I ask is that you don’t stop. I don’t want to lose your smell or the fact that passing a stranger on the street with your scent causes them to wonder why I smell like them, not realizing it is you. You don’t even mean to do it, but your carelessness causes me to embody you, and to say I don’t mind is an understatement.

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