A Photograph of Us
A photograph of us: we are blushing
in your bathroom mirror, your body wrapped
around mine. A blanket. A tattoo
needled in. Your beaming chin in my hair.
You, promising marital bliss.
How could you be so lovely?
A photograph of us: 106 miles apart.
Me, wrapped in fading amaranth sheets that now
call to mind evisceration.
You, ripping up wilting notes I wrote to you
til their worthlessness disgusts you.
How could you?
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