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  • 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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