through the night
every half moon.
White chalk solidarity
in her head.
Mountains and broken
clocks in his.
Missing every fifth step
together.
Playin blind to the pitfalls.
The traps themselves
longing to be sprung.
Break the lifeless
curse of the season.
Give their creation
a reason.
Is the agony as rich
when the wound is expected?
1 comment:
This also is very good
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