Her heart is driftwood and her lips are cracked.
These ink blot bruises have tattooed her back
with shadows of lies. The lover laments
(in fool’s gold teardrops) the soul that he spent.
His spine swells to cobwebs on splintered wings
spun of bliss and other forgotten things.
She lowers her head (the serpents cascade)
and rages into the chaos she’s made.
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