He would come to make love to her

When she had no one else

And she was still living in her mother’s place

In a Room with a red bed

And Red curtains

And pills against many fears,

Numerous thin bridges

Ropes and ladders over her madness.

He would come to make love to her

And made her laugh and drink her breath,

And smoke with her and was wearing her skirt

With no shirt, a black beard, mentally scarred

And hair tied back with a rubber band.

They were drinking bottles of beer

Them he was hiding in the trash bin

So Her mother will not know she was drinking.

His love was the only one she had

And his eyes that recognized the best lines in the poems she wrote.

On his right shoulder a tattoo of a cross

And he always speaks in a whisper

Loving her flaws

And the fracture was placed accurately on the place of the scar.

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