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Counting Backwards
It was early winter, perhaps
it was still hanging on
to late fall, the tv timer slowly counted backwards
from 10 in green neon, 9…8…, you had fallen
asleep, as you often do, before me, it was two
maybe three sitcoms ago, 7…6…, we had spent
the night in, wrapped up in blankets, your half eaten
egg-roll from our take out, and a half empty bottle
of wine next to the bed as proof, 5…4…, you cut my
hair after work, leaving as much on top for
obvious reasons, we commented on each others
respective pink parts, 3…2…, I complained of work,
you of bills unpaid and the weight of single motherhood,
we talked of the future, made silly little promises that
neither of us kept, nor honored, 1…0…
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