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Wednesday, October 21, 2015

In the Weeds

We loved in the weeds
She and I
And not upon the stars
We supposed.

We groped corpses
And not bright flesh.

Our tracks
Were nothing more
Than doe prints
In late-winter snows.

We imagined our loving
Spiraling white
Brilliance.
But we were only embers
Becoming ash.

There is no good return
To regret.

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