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Stillness.
I wait.
You are immobile but active, hot shards and death-inspiring chills
wrapping
feeling you
raping you as a husband rapes his wife,
nonchalant.

I am aware of this activity, but cannot watch it for myself.
You too are silent, half-breathing. At some point,
you will fall asleep,
or burst into tears,
tear into me with words or fingernails,
perhaps attempt suicide.
Until then,
we will be still,
and I will wait.