See, hear, speak. No.

Are your eyes damaged?
That you can see the way she bends for you
and not know love, in the pit of yourself.
Did you fill it with gauze soaked in chloroform
that you are not alive enough to realise
she is fizzing against the sorrow, for you?
And have you cooked black the tip of your tongue
on her lips, blazing mighty and rouge
when you took her too lightly?

Simian boy, five busy hands
and none left to hold her body with.
Wilful amputation.

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