It has been a year, or longer.
Your feet have not ceased to grace my door,
Your hands have not ceased to knock,
Your lips have not ceased to say my name.
I have been a bad one yes,
but my heart bore always your weight,
my nose always sought your scent,
my eyes saw always your face, on the curtain of my eyelids.
I return, unsure, afraid,
Will you meet me with an embrace or submerge me in slaps?
Will your lips kiss, or pucker to spit on me? Will your nails scratch?
On my fear, I don my strength
this is no time for trembling,
what must be done
must be done
So here I am
Stone me or
Bid me welcome.
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