Bleeding Stains

The touch, though at first felt new,
was much too familiar, and that scent?
I was quick to recall it, too
as I plunged tight-lipped
to the bottom of that last bottle.
Came up slightly stained,
engorged, spent, gasping for air-
and each labored breath an effort to
breathe life into the abandoned seed
we never let take root, or perhaps,
it was to give birth to something new.

And it may have been the last time-
at least for many months to come
if what I had done next
in fact chanced to leave alone.
But my shame stained lips
would eventually swell,
spread to these hips,
and, in time, would tell
of just how easily plans,
and those left unmade, both fail.


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