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Mar 2016
Please find me.
Christ, there are raindrops behind my eyes
and they're pouring like the words you moan in bed,
falling, dripping from your tongue onto the pillow case we've washed three thousand and sixty times.
I've counted every breath, every sigh, every screeching word coated in temporary hatred.
I still remember the shape of the bruise you planted on my cheek;
the colors dying, flesh healing, as we spoke of the incident I so fondly remember,
apologies embedded in dancing tongues.
And I miss every second of everything I could connect to you.
The screeching words, the chanting of my name when we made love,
the wordless 'let us meet again' your hands gave me the first night we met.
I would **** to feel your breath on my skin,
I would go to church every day if it meant never forgetting your scent.
I would sell my soul to have you paint bruises on me again.

My dear, terrible lover,
Where have you gone?

Untie the knot in my throat
and sing me to eternal sleep;
lest death be the one
who hushes my need to weep.
Written by
Dante  26/Non-binary/Connecticut
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