it's my blood.

My best love, Pauline, gave me a small old photo, once. It was referring to, in her poet's way, a photo i once gave her of a brave beautiful woman avitator... hers was of a group of women, hugging each other. I stood the photo, glass-covered, on the doorsill because i don't want to make holes in the wall. Of course, when i slammed the door tonight, the photo fell and the glass broke.

I strove to pick up the shards before anyone noticed. So clumsily, i pricked several fingers, and spread it all; over those few spots and more.

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