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For The Beloved Witness

when i think of your promise
of meeting me at the end of the world
blood curdles in my mouth
and my tongue keeps going back
to your memory like your tongue
kept going back to your missing tooth.
as i would watch your face and watch
your moles collapse into a constellation
i would think of the prophecy the missing (tooth) carried.
it always reminded me of the first time we met:

under the rustling leaves of the mulberry tree, there
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Wednesday, October 12, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: love,martyr,memories
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