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Amy Bancroft

When the alcohol  
spilled on the floor
and you carried me –
to wash away the blood in the shower –
my body did not feel the love of your touch,
or the comfort in your voice.
My skin burned and withered
and melted in your acidic apologies.
The poison I mistook for love
suffocated me.
I patiently wait
for seven years to pass
so there is no part of my skin
that you have touched.