ix.
now
ive an image of you
in my head.
he bends you over a chair,
he does not ease
him self into you he pushes.
eight-years
old & opened like that?
my
story is more silent,
drugged in its remembering
though it is still
alive.
i say,
at the end: i never once thought of you that way.
no. i never felt more sure,
giving my self to someone.
you
are / you were
enough that he was erased, moment-
arily forgotten. what power
you had & did not know
it
was as if you were already inside of me
& i had just noticed your presence,
called you in
to being.
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