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20 The Room I didn’t want to ever lose your face, the way you found me in the darkened room, my brain an open wound and me not sure of anything. The gurney wheels brought me here to you; the morphine freely came, yet it was more the sweetness of your voice, the way your hand felt on my brow, the way you leaned the weight of you against the pull of other duties waiting down the hall that eased me back, the anesthesia gone. Then I awoke, and you no longer there, and what I wanted has the name of everything: the brain relieved, the pretty scar, the room whose dark I lavished in, and you in me. ...

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