it's 3am, and I need to hear sunlight
hours wealthier, you
step out into life.
something in here is dying;
curled, I listen for its breathing.
time drips somewhere in a cave.
love? you were in love with the idea
it tastes of quinine, dipped in too much sugar.
I learned to embrace bleeding,
to love the sticky sweetness.
an emptying heart has enough blood
to flow across a kitchen table
before turning black
(you would never write this down).
sitting between our worlds are the
cold, smooth stones I collected.
in spring snow covered the daffodils.
metaphorically speaking
this murder will be misunderstood.
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