the silver scars she left running down my back will not heal and when her skin splits away, my shoulders crack and you can see my heart.
a december falls on a broken tower; she waits.
time folds out of her stomach, bends and creases: a small white dominion of earth
broken brows run across longing foreheads. eyelashes freeze with saltwater dew, closed to hands and joints and grating love against paper skin
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