| I’m reading over your shoulder,
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| it says it in every line, in every curve and crack.
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| it says it in every detail of your face,
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| unmistakably apparent in this dull light.
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| tracing a separate letter, forming a separate word.
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| twisting together to build the same beautiful sentence,
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| the same painful realization.
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| the cracks in your lips
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| open with the books. |
| and
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| the smile shows the lines in your face.
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| perfectly crooked, and
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| perfectly familiar.
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| and for the moment, uncovered like a statue--
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| lay perfectly still. |
| to show the cracks in your lips.
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| give purpose to this pattern, and start to smile.
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| burst into flames, disappear
|
| before your best intentions can no longer hide her ears
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| from that which will make them bleed.
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| before your own two hands become too weak to hold the blood inside her wounds.
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| before reality explodes before you in a brilliant flash of spectral fires,
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| into a thousand fragments of a past, long dead and gone.
|
| (this is remembering the last time we touched,
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| the last time we spoke,
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| words ricocheting off empty tables.
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| vandalizing the pictures on these smoke-stained walls
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| and I can feel your mouth as it opens from across the room.
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| your tongue and lips forming the shape of your laughter,
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| its the curve of your stomach, its the bend in your legs.
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| its the remnants of the pages framed in the cracks of your bleeding lips,
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| its the curve of your stomach, its the bend in your legs.
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| your crooked teeth.)
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| I’m reading over your shoulder,
|
| it says it in every line, in every curve and crack--
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| the same stupid message in every stupid bend and in every stupid stitch,
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| in every inch of our peeling skin.
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| its tracing letters in the same sentence,
|
| (its screaming the same stupid thing,
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| like the howling of a plane playing over and over and over and over and over…) |