The fickle blood moon hangs like a wafer in the midsummer night’s sky, pulling the tides that caress the shore.
The stare of the evil stars is constant and unyielding. Our bodies explode like a car crash in an empty rural road that lies like a ribbon next to the sea.
I am enchanted and wrap my arms hungrily around your neck, tossing thoughts like pebbles into your ear.
I drown in you, like an anchor cast into the sea. You are water that I try to catch in the net of my fingers.
Will we fuck like dark and savage animals? You pass through my shadow, and I want to consume you, but you elude me so easily, disappearing into the fathomless depths of an abyss.
And so I must slip quietly from your body with the fog. As I creep over the mirror that's shattered into splinters on your bedroom floor, I see a ghost’s icy reflection in the shards of glass. I am not yet afraid.
I leave a trail of rose petals in my wake. Time drags me on a distant path into the unknown toward death, and I imagine that I am dreaming.
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Unmagical thinking - I know people talk about the transformative power of grief, and I know that there’s supposed to be some alchemy whereby you internalize the person you lost...