memories of long words and longer sentences

bruises and drops of ink

you paint us in pain

baroque images

while the night washes us in old light

I remember you

slow from eons and light-years of yesterdays

while I am comfortably nestled in my blankets

I think of you drawing me out

drawing me

bending me over my kitchen counter and making me cry

while we are warm and safe I think of that moment

of stillness

right after being hit

painted with a stroke of a cane

the bottom of that moment is stillness.

empty but for perfect

when you touch me softly

it is with an incandescent light


like blood lit through skin


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