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While We Metamorphose

My voice broke on the edge of breath. We stripped the bark from our ribs like trees to find no center. Blood is a language we forgot in churches. I held your absence like a flame burning under my tongue, while skin remembers the names we never spoke. I was becoming not better just closer to the fracture before the old name. And you fell into me like a glyph not carved. We did not rise we undressed.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2025




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Date: 7/9/2025 11:58:00 AM
Your final lines—“We did not rise / we undressed”—reject transcendence or redemption. This isn’t a resurrection; it’s a stripping down, a baring of self. Powerful stuff, haunting. Keep it up.
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