into me.
I wouldn’t stop
if you didn’t need to breathe.
Love hurts as much
as it heals
when unable to melt
you through me.
There’s hurt
in loneliness, yes,
but hurt
in knowing love
as well:
the former a cancer,
the latter an ache
that can’t be slain;
that could only numb
if somehow I squeezed
—melted—
you into me.
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