You try to pry my ribcage open with a bottle opener,
your dirty fingers wedging into the gaps you created -

is this how lovers fight?  All rage and vitiosity,
baring teeth as openly as we once bared our skeletons,
nothing but stark white against crimsons and fleshy pinks?

I swallow my tongue like a favored meal, I hardly choke at all anymore.

Ribs separate from spine in an instant of fracturing,
bone splintering like matchsticks, marrow spilling out like sap from a tree -

can lovers kill or do they instead break you into pieces
to scatter about until the important things are lost in the wreckage
and when you stitch yourself up you realize some of your stuffing has gone missing?

The End

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