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Jul 2022
i still wait for my bed to dip beneath your weight —
70 days, 70 taunting moons still come and go
without a trace

the shape of your tiny body.
i know you are weightless now,
and the bed doesn’t dip — my heart does
until it resembles a blood-red, pink flesh quicksand;
i wish we had fallen here instead, within my reach;
you can reach for a rib, a branch, a lifeline,
i would’ve given you the whole cage —
warm enough to keep you home, each bone will bar the door
and keep death outside and eye to eye with me.
the first one to blink loses.

maybe he would’ve lost his patience
and taken my heart instead —
every dip, every beat, every pump that lasts,
no more now,
and all my angels will keep you safe,
and the bed will dip under your little pink paws,
and orange feet

as i watch from the other side:
you are all the living colors and the world is pale like a ghost.
— written may 16, 2022, 11:28 pm
fray narte
Written by
fray narte  23/F/Philippines
   Weeping willow
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