Your silent cantillations foam
At the gorge between your lips.
Body a rocking horse
Broken across the saddle.
Fistulas rendezvous
In your purloined heart.
Grief is hideous
Underneath your skin.
–
I enter the bazaar,
Inching my way
Across the diameter
Grappling my way
Through your foreboding.
Wracked and loaded with pain,
The shadow beneath you
Comes off in flakes
As if it too were incinerated.
No one hurts as fiercely as you do.
–
I shift the junk
In my pocket book
Passing out tissues to all
Who will take them.
Your dwindling eyes spilling
Fruitlessly over the asphalt
There is nothing here, no one
To haul away your sadness
And I am a pitiful excuse.
–
For
https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/06/29/wordle-67-june-29-2015/
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