Who moves these keys,
Who wriggles this tongue?
Who bruises us?
When my fingers twitch,
and my muscles knot,
and my panic boils over.
It has been months.
What work has been done to develop these crevasses?
A weeks pay,
Will that smooth out the particular rotted groove?
I find you counting the freckles on their face,
How else could you stomach eye contact?
I wake up screaming words I mu...

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