Questions

like little spiders, moonlight
glowing across the movement.

She makes room by making
him crazy, distance spanning

across all the lonely hearts.
Mine, all mine…

Final conflict for starlight,
not brighter than her plan

to dissipate. It isn’t fair,
they say, but who said

anything about fairness?
We all know the ruse,

but ignore the rise…Cooling
sand covering core, feet

already burnt—just give
her the word, or the one

who took them away from
his salt-stained mouth.

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