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since you moved out
i have not returned to the apartment.
i sleep in my old bedroom
in the house i outgrew the moment
you flexed your fingers inside of me.
my mother and her henna fingered friends
move out my belongings
like handfuls of water
from a sinking boat.
the entire city tastes of your
cowardly mouth.
i pray like a photograph left out in the sun
bent at the edges
stiff at the centre
stained
trying to remember what i looked like
before you ruined me.
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3 comments:
Beautiful!
truly beautiful indeed!
You are dropping some serious incantations sis... As one poet to another, I bow.
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