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Between the first date and now.

Haven't you heard?
There's a howl
on her breath
and she's catching it, swallowing and keeping it,
doesn't want you to see it,
eating chips with a knife and fork,
saying no to pudding,
painting her nails - taking it off before it looks chipped,
buying decent clothes as a priority.
You don't know
the first pet she had,
what makes her cry,
who her favourite family member is
but yet you know the shape of her areolas,
know the weight you want her, which part you want of her, which place you'd make space in her.

I'm just being honest,
don't even know if you see it,
know if you believe it -

the holes that will grow in her from who she's been,
who she's seen, envied, wanted, lost, loved, cherished, buried herself inside
until herself is a pressure -


she's learning at leisure to love
and so less and less you,
miles from that date
when you were late, shattered in rain drops
as heavy as rivers,
when she was desperate to please,
leasing out her flesh for affection -


howls on breath you can now hear, you now see,
know the first pet she had,
which family member she loved and lost,
see her areolas - extended from feeding your births - less,
know the weight that you'd want her, and the age that you wish you'd wanted her better,
which place you'd make space in her, which places you'd heal.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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