Shall accusing eyes
burn your skin away, or
cutting words bleed you dry?
Shall angry hands beat and bruise
until your bones have forgotten
how to heal?
Perhaps, perhaps, and we—
together we would bear it all.
In the end
it is the untying of our wrists,
the image of a back
that will break us both:
ankles in slow motion and
shoulders shrinking steadily,
and a beloved face fixed
on the far side
of a neck that will not turn.
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