In concave flinching moment pressed,
breast-valley heaviness, bones.
What is it if it's not my heart but hurts,
what is it if it's just the bones.
A bruise is not a thought/
a thought is not a thing when it's dissolved
in welling eyes in sudden rising
throat in catching of the bones.
Oh my dear I'm sorry for my face
its twist is just the bones, the pressure on them
I think it's all, the dread is just a bruise
just bones, a bruise, just bones
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