Bitter the taste, bile rising,

as it sinks in deep – this

is actually happening.  Nauseated

wave near knocks her out; a sway

or two, but still erect.  Flutter,

O Heart, thy end be near.  Down,

down in the dark, a chasm

for errant souls – they who didn’t

know when best to have flown.

Fallen angels, now,

cheeks anointed with acrid tears.

Down be your destination, dear.

Who needs sunlight and laughter?

What use the soft touch of a lover

when its clear she’ll never see

the sunlight after

this grave

misfortune?

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