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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 ©
Antonella Biunda
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