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Exorcising the Ex
To remember you
is to feel the pink tissue,
quiet and new,
where the wound
closed its mouth.
To see you
(from a distance, always)
is to look beyond the river's reflection,
not trusting the ripple effects,
for I have learned, from you,
the disarming nature of flow.
To hear you
is to submerge myself in the deep sea
of regret. I engage in underwater confessions:
I never knew how to ride your swift currents.
I never knew whose story to believe.
To taste you
is to cough up blood of undetermined origin,
to rinse my body clean of you.
Your warrior hands were too fast for me;
At times I felt like a domesticated animal
commanded to call up ancestral demons
and take part in the blood hunt.
To touch you
is to fill my lungs with smoke,
exhaling rage, for all along
I knew your love was an ashtray,
and my love the borrowed spark.
To forget you
is to ask, finally:
Why did you come for me?