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I follow behind, eager for every careless verb, each pause to bridge your colluded phrases. I was a leaf under your heel, a sigh made of chlorophyll and light. But then you cracked language, compartmentalized anguish, waited for the twisted fall. Your  face, a glass stained  by hazardous play. I catch what you shatter, catalogue your discarded letters, carved  from your spare words.. I braid woe into my patchwork skin. I am not your shadow, but I owe my shape to you. My venomous hair braided syllable to curse to conjunction. I thread my fingers round your spine, tuck my head down to warm my lips on bile. Our path rolls deeper with every curl of your tongue.