all I can think about
is the way your face
hit the pavement.
poppies bloomed
from your knees
and all the world
caught a glimpse
of those bruises
like violets
on the backs
of your thighs.
this is not the way
I would prefer to dream.
I knew I was dreaming
because milk flowed
where blood should be.
your body promised me
this couldn’t possibly
be real.
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