you are tired but you still
tend to abused bruises
in the concave tabernacle
of your bathroom
and you lay me open with
hard healing hands, say
we never need to be sorry
your hands heal
they are old and you use them
to dry my back and you say
you'll catch your death of cold like this
and you ask who he is and i ask
who who is and you give me the look
you have given me fifty seven times
and i say you are crazy but you know
how many ways this road goes
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