SUPREME
my blood turns to milk
my blood pulls the moon
the heart tween my thighs
pumps
H E A T
I die in seasons
I’ll resurrect in the spring
the in breath comes from
the bottom of the out breath
and I’m (proud) whole
enough to let you
leave
women are manufactured
to let a dying thing
leave the body
and I (always) never
know how
to let you leave.
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