Poetry

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Words carved into my heart.
Your blood mingles with mine
And I don't know where to put my hands.
On the hurt, to cause more hurt, and staunch the wound?
Or trust the little cells to do their work
And cut the light,
Pulling the incubating cover of darkness back up to your chin.
Tucking you in, safe in the darkness,
Where good things grow and wait for a warmer season.



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