They said the procedure would help me see
in the dark
But darkness was never the problem
It was the shape of the hand
resting on my shoulder
long after it stopped being kind
Instinct returned quietly
not as violence
but as refusal
I noticed patterns
the pauses
the borrowed warmth
Love, once examined under surgical light,
revealed its fingerprints
everywhere it had been rearranged
When instinct awoke
I did not grow teeth
I grew distant
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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