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The Abortion of Mira

Let’s go back,
to the time we had the world in a room.
When the soft light coming from the streetlamp outside
told more than your silence did—your eyes fluid all over shattered glass.


The journal said you loved me: Paradise of Lancôme and city smoke.
You’d miss my skin forever and how I felt. Imagine
yourself looking at the marks across my ass,
Snowflakes glisten on my breasts.


You disgusted me for having those— until you saw how
your fingers buried into each as if my
marks were your print. You found an empire.
My body was a continent.


I threatened you. I was a thousand of things.
My routine, your paranoia.
If the heart was jaded inside the mind, the poison of
one proved lethal to the other…


I was cruel. The clot on my mouth proved
it a hard blow to you. The flame glowed on:
Ashes were all we’re drowning for. For the last time
we made sense in the fire of wood and stones.


I broke a wing when you were gone.
I lost you when you burst your lungs.


Let’s go back,
in this room where I’ve ended one world.
Where time gave the impression of being still…


I twisted when my body expelled the last tumors.


Drifted in the stagnant blue, I rolled onto my face


and fell.
The deep water had become the sky. My body
was plummeting like satellite debris spiraling down to earth, except


I was not in flame. Salt and ice began

to take over–

Published inMainOtherSorrow


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