Crossing the Line

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I remember

the comfort

of being held

by him

when I wept-

the money

he sent me

from college.

 

He was a baby

when I climbed into

his crib to sleep

beside him.

 

Was that when

it all began?

 

Dead all these years

He still lives

under my skin.

 

Yearning,

I follow

the curves

of the river,

hierogplyhs

in the sand,

hungering

for

a body

I lost.

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