I’m missing you.
The sound of your breath,
The softness you’ve taken away.
Come back. Come back, I say.I ate peanut butter today,
Four spoonfuls when I meant to have two.
Your fault, I’m sure, men exceeding their limit
At the mention of your name.What is it about a sheep bound for slaughter
That excites your blood? What is this
Frequented space reserved for sharpened knives?
What is this slow death you torment me with?“Anna, I am too old,” I say.
You laugh. I see the red stains
On your sharpened teeth
And do not care.
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