“When I’d pictured you (yes, I pictured you / and me with you), it was dead-on: / you wear the expected eyes of exhaustion,”
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the needle skips, you pour more salt. i’m not fucking listening, / i promise. throw scripture into static—rip
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to be filled up / and begging for more / (when the womb is dying) / all expectant and graped / and waiting.
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