full of wounds, but holding on

i used to love
how soft you were:
the supple curve of your belly,
the wild, loose curls of your hair;

your “good-nights”, thick and heavy,
shamelessly drunk on sleep.

the way you loved me:
like the tide,
coming and going,
high and low,
sometimes calm, others, tempestuous-
a different thing for every different moon.

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