I am two halves
a melon split with an ax
a brilliantly invisible seam,
the quick sear of an x-acto
piercing taut skin.

Shaking out years
with sugared fans –
the metallic scratch of the sifter
breaking clumps into fine
decorative dust.

Love hopes that I
am not broken
and looks expectantly
in my sallowed eyes, I
too tired to speak.

For this decade has taken me,
held me under her strong hand
while I hold my breath,
eyes slow to focus

her slow words soft in my ear.

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