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She’d given good head, so it made sense to remove her teeth
This way, too, she’d always be honest—never bite her tongue
The shocks of blue flanking her nose had always enticed him
But as he was now confirming, good things come to those who wait
Princess hands is what he had called the delicate pair
Long skinny fingers enshrined in a perfect white pallor
One times ten divided by itself like a slow-burning candle
Even those of a lady have more bones than you’d ever guess
Each can explode in a precise order, or like the end of the Fourth,
When you can no longer separate the cascade of cackles and pops
In time, you too will see this as a love letter
At this point, calling them “birthing hips” was only adding insult
And this exercise was entirely and exclusively about injury
How best to break such a big and essential bone?
The poets all say: Oh let me count the ways
Since I’m fixing myself, a wrench
Since I struck out, a baseball bat
Since I’m an avenging angel, a fiery sword
Since it wasn’t meant to be, the leg of a crib
Since God guides our every step, the iron from a church’s front gate
In time, you too will see this as a love letter
How about those pornstar thighs?
And the toes we used to paint?
The ears you ignored me with?
Or the hair we dyed together?
You’ve got a bust as well…
And noses are easy to break
Can you walk a mile in my shoes when I put vices to your femurs?
Can you walk all over me with your feet submerged in boiling water?
Can you hear my cries when a potato peeler sculpts your ears?
Can you feel our beating heart when I flatten your chest with a scythe?
Can you smell this pre-cum when there’s lime in your nostrils?
In time, you too will see this as a love letter
For every date a bursted vein
For every present an opened artery
For every holiday a loosened digit
For every promise an embalmed appendage
In time, you too will see this as a love letter
“Sorry” isn’t even a real word, you know
It was coined on cavalry after the crucifixion
God gave it to his disciples with a lot of hope
But redemption is just another dog that won’t bark
Here on Earth, all we’ve got left is the bite
“Sorry” has not held me up
“Sorry” can’t stop me now
“Sorry” isn’t a bandage for these wounds
“Sorry” won’t be what kills you
In time, you too will see this as a love letter
The emotion I feel isn’t “sorry”
The pain you feel isn’t “sorry”
The stains on this bed aren’t “sorry”
The letters s, o, r, r, and y aren’t “sorry”
In time, you too will see this as a love letter
Richard Power is the author of Letters from a Heartbroken Pervert, available from Terror House Press.