I took a thread from my heart while you slept
and delicately stitched it to your leg-
it was the nearest part of you and it felt so important,
disquietly necessary
But then you put me on a plane,
set for two thousand miles to the west.
And I began unraveling at the edges as I flew;
by the time you found the vein from my heart
sewn into your leg
my arms had fallen off.
When you ripped apart the “seam”
you left me bleeding and armless
under a mountain.
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