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I will come to you
open.
You will love me-
ribs like wings,
my heart no longer
mine
but everyone’s.
One day I’ll be a vine.
One day I’ll only paint
a single layer,
a mirror of someone
stronger,
but for now I’m the eye
of the storm.
I’m an honest wound
and I will come to you
as a parachute.
You will die for
my mouth,
and learn,
marrow and soul,
that missing me
means
drowning.

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