you raise your legs in the air and they are still crooked from
the time your father pushed you down the stairs when your bones
were new and soft, and you are telling me exactly who you are-
slowly, but please take your time (and take all of mine).

the sunlight falls through the cracks in the blinds, the raindrops
resting on the windows shine and what has haunted me (the
desperation of the mountain pines struggling to reach the heavens
(as we drive by, and the temperature drops)) is far away.

we have left that mountain range behind, and with it the smell
of wood-burning stoves and diesel fuel, the cracked and bleeding
lips, and the sound of strangers talking in their sleep;

the place we came to glows sublimely and i'm staring at
the scars on your knees while i listen to your words and find
something new to haunt the space between asleep and dreaming.

Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

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