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No, you laughed like sugar stirring,

your feet are too black,

your teeth are so sharp!

Can you not stand up straight

in my old dresses?

Can you not make your flesh

like mine?

Shamed, fur flamed across my cheek,

but you patted it pale with flour and sweet,

and I wept to be savage and bristle-stiff

in such a tidy place,

in such silent, clean arms

I slept curled

at the foot of your bed,

reeking of lavender and lilac