She didn’t examine her body for bruises, or not until sunday afternoon,
standing in a shaft of sunlight, dust illuminated, her skin covered in downy hairs
-lifting as her fingertips brush by- caressing the purlpegreenblue of that night,
bared teeth and curled lip, sprawled, she remembers,
it doesn’t matter where the lace is worn what matters is where you bruise.
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