Roused by a stiff, stale air
pressing in like the bends
a hospital bed; a prison cell
you came to me like a scalpel
two-faced, three heads
that makes Six: this must be hell.

I've been churned over, remapped, flipped rightside-back by home surgeries to keep me shut away from you. I've spent countless days and sleepless nights, stitching closed the curtains that play with your phantom breeze...

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