The light goes red. Room forgets rules.
Touch like hunger. Something in us answers.
Heat. First bruise that feels of grace.
Then the turn. Soft then absolute.
Time stands still for the chosen.
Door behind the eyes. A hand on leash.
Under us: blood. Old weight. Unnamed remains.
We pull each other apart in small reverent pieces.
Hating how we love.
To teach the rhythm.
When it’s done, the red stays.
And we do too.
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