Spill

Darling, I want to say
you reached into my chest
and pulled out my heart beating
but you kept your hands
at your side and let me
do the reaching. I stretched
so far for you I tipped
like a glass spilling
over the white kitchen tiles.
You made of me a mess
and slipped away, out
the back door, a failure
of a thief, who could hold nothing
in her hands.

The clock in the kitchen ticks
gently on, and the floor is stained
still, though I have scrubbed it
several times.

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