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When you are sleeping I crouch over you and mark out your body. I mark it like a butcher who will carve an animal, with dotted lines across your chest, and under your ribs; a slice through your thigh, another around the muscles at your calve.

How brutal it looks, you marked up like that, all innocent and written on. Soon you will be blown apart. Soon there will be pieces of you scattered across this floor and that, each shaking with the small last bits of breath you have.

But then, love, I will gather you up. I will find every last piece and lay you out as an archaeologist might on dusty digs, by plastic sheets and the brushes to find the skin and body and bone which remain.

I will put you back together; I will stick you with spit and blood, and my sweat and salt. I will build you back again, because I have marked you, and I know how.


Written by elikafm

April 19, 2011 at 9:55 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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