she was a doorframe to his blood

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she breathed slowly by the sink
her hands in dough
and thought of a tree in bloom

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he held the phrase matrimonial privacy
a mouthful of nails to hammer a stair toward the bedroom

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a warmth in her thighs
against the snow of the day
sunlight quavered in a bowl of water

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winters later
he curls no larger than a loaf of bread
under strips of wallpaper
mewling for home