gift box

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I could give you
a last word – stud through the nose
this blood flow down the throat
is warm and comforting – the very tip
of tongue is where we start a sound
toward your opening – with one hand

on the door – escape route plotted
ready to embark on well oiled boards
defence in first – your leather soles
are waiting to escort you home to exit
with a spit at my reflection
I could give you

comfort at my silence – holding hands
against the bare bulb
in your mother’s pantry – wooden walls
that splinter in the wind and leave us
naked – your breath forming by the bare
brick cellar – anger that coagulates

around your neck – I give you
shallow soil to grow your sunflowers
and a kiss to water them
now close the stone door over
as the red turns brown against the dusk
a last word dies behind a china tooth

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