broth

I can sense loss.

Its in me, in the shape of my wrist as I grasp for understanding.

You’re the man out, but my love is quadruplicated;

this is just the underlying economy.

What’s the trick then?

Eyes under hood:

Keeping the angles small, keeping the elbows in,

a great effort with slick hands to

conserve what can’t be stopped

bleeding through a hole.

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