You blink for the fourteenth time as if
your gaze were a beggar bartering for
redemption. I sink into golden ground,
watching your breath vanishing into the wet fog.
The radiance of stars as they shower the horizon,
glowing against pallid skin I once coveted many summers ago,
reminds me I’ve drowned you in velvet.
You’re flourishing in beauty—marvelous, mangled arms
incriminating the body that now seethes me. How
can you coax without your whimsical tongue
or hand that once watered the souls of prisoners?
But I shall not be the one to blame, for I
saunter from your body and into the wretched
room housing your exquisite ornaments,
contrite remedies, and lustful texts.
My soul is handcuffed to your memorial, but
your body drifts from my presence before the
sun swallows the single grace I have given you.
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