The laundry

Love never kept the bed warm for me at night,
Instead all it ever did was fill me with
unfulfilled fairytale prophecies
inscribed on my back like constellations
hieroglyphs of a tear-stained
civilization
that I still cannot decipher

Love taught me how to
hang my memories out to dry
like clothing on a line
until I ran out of pins, only
to put them on later
suddenly too tight on my body
than I remember

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