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fatal MoMent

our heroes are conflicted
hanging cross-wise
strangled with choice
pock-marks on their skin
topographically hardened by
their spirit of humanity
from their urge to merge
with its incessant need, a feast of senses,
vital moments in the grace of salt-sweat
the sticky sand in her bathing suit
fingered open by an eager bull-dog marine
there on her beach of girlish dreams, he'd
leave her shivering in anguish
choking with catholic guilt
while the child she was, lay bleeding
she sacrificed herself;
probing her wounds, over and over
for some strength in the sore spots
she couldn't avoid the larger mission
by going into caves of martyrdom
to float away on some dark ship of no return
she didn't understand social expectations
so became wrought by burden
at a loss for words
she'd refrain from back-room surgery
not knowing the cold-cut of stainless steel
nor redemption from her mother religion
her blood retreated in shame
the lock was on the door
she bore me in the secret fear she couldn't bear anymore

13 Jun 14

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