My eyes when I look in the mirror above now

Have large round puff formations


Your sudden kisses that didn’t arouse

Form scabs on bruises

Bruises are my cheeks that no longer round together

Instead droop along with my puffy eyes and scabbed bruises

I was waiting for you so long, you my postman, call handler, laundry maiden maybe, perhaps , who knows

Nobody knows

Because all around me the reality is ghosts

And my friends are memories of people that don’t fit the memories and seasons are postcards

Fooling me that they could be from abroad

But they’re not

They’re just bruises

Just bruises.

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