came on a flowered bed - her groans leave me
miles form her, her thumping hands
left her stooping, her voice dead
until its resurrection that November morning
i was left running in place, trying to run
in time back to that bed lit by
a desk lamp and bound by two bodies -
one limp, one pushing - one grunting,
one still, quiet, the throat bleeding after
the sting of a thousand "no"'s
time is a treadmill - impossible on which
to run backwards - and i just keep looking
over, seeing her body under
a ton of bricks, leaving wounds
not of blood but of the worst,
and i can't help but trip while running
to her
i'll stop running and we will
move forward together moving forward
together
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