a moment.

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She will come to rely on habit;
Grow intimate with the repetition
of deadbolt to frame
chain to lock
twist of knob.
(Repeat just in case.)
She will wear running shoes to bead.
Routinize the ritual;
check drawer for cold steel.
(Repeat just in case.)
Her face will tell the story
through circles under eyes
from days eclipsed by nights
that afford her little sleep.
Twisting in sheets, she repeats the scene,
hi thumbs into the space between
throat and breast bone
knee between thighs
his eyes...
...so vacant.
Head into wall
and then the blanket
of darkness.
She falls
with screams caught in throat,
body crying sweat,
still in the moment
locked in her head.
He will satisfy himself with reminders.
His nose, pressed into torn shirt
that still smells of roses
His nights filled with mementos,
he has memorized each of the poses
on his walls of photos.
Her leaving the office job
outside the coffee shop
the bench where she sat
the one in the...
can't get past
that scene
makes it center stage
on his altar.
Her face, turned slightly away,
as if to say come follow me.
How he obliged
while she pretended to fight it.
Vivid scenes replace the dreams.
Twisted sheets soaked in the euphoria
revisited in his bed,
still in the moment
locked in his head.
They will immortalize each other in memory.
The nights will fall as curtains rise
on movies destined to repeat.
The soundtrack of screams
will echo in ears
sweet as a song yet
chilling to the bone.
They will carry each others faces behind their eyelids;
their taste, under each others tongue;
their touch under each others skin;
slaves to the memories
that fester within,
still in the moment,
locked forever in time.

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