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When you said no,
             I went for your dresser,
opened the top drawer,
             broke the paper seals
on the two sterile cups,
             and wiped my dirty
thumbs inside.

             Because our stubborn love
won’t die, I have to kill it,
            will it dead. Or so
I thought until I passed
             a cycle on my own.
You’ve no idea
             what’s grown
inside me
             since I bled.

Source: Poetry (September 2013)

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This poem originally appeared in the September 2013 issue of Poetry magazine

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