to become again

I wrap the word

gentle

around my

body like a

blanket; soft and

soothing against my

skin and memories

all red

and raw

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the apathy of flower picking

this summer I

watched the way you kept

picking roses and pricking

your fingers

on the thorns and

my arms held themselves

open for the tears you

shed but now

I

am the one

picking roses and pricking

my fingers and through my

tears I see

your arms crossed

in front of you.