the day and I,
seemed,
at odds, as if,
the room shrunk it's corners,
and placed them where his arms should be,
he kept trying to hug me,
and hug me, and hug me,
and I, bruised easily, running into the corners,
so,
we stared at each other instead,
counting the hours till we,
didn't have to see we anymore,
growing impatient with our careful plodding,
a minute by minute pantomime of a routine,
that both hated-agreed upon,
but felt necessary,
to bite the illusion back,
that nothing had changed,
but yet,
something was different in the way,
he not-looked at me, and I side-backed at him,
something was off-odd,
and I itched to be gone,
but couldn't-
married, matched, and made,
so I lied next to him in bed,
and stared at the ceiling,
feeling his heat dry the skin out of my eyes,
forced into a crawl between his lips,
and prayed,
for the long impossible scratched out sleep,
to steal his breath away.
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