Murmured Wakening



I came over

having ironed my dress, washed between my legs

anointed my thighs, pulled comb through much neglected hair

pressed breasts beneath raspberry bodice

not killed the spider forsaking sacrifice, who turns

eight-legged pin wheel in small glass used for candles

I did not burn because, I wanted to burn with you

and lie myself open like a kite, to blow in the wind

be taken in every direction and none but you beneath your sum and your indivisible

where we met and no longer were, separating or independent of other

then I’d be glad I moisturized and tweezed away the pieces of me

I usually let stay because it matters not, when you are not around to please

what grows long and wild, urging me to shave and scythe

the world has lost its color in wait, for your return and eventual claim

I wait I suppose, I…

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